Title:One Moment Of Truth


Author: Elaine Stouse

Email:rdadsemail@rdads.com


One Moment Of Truth - Part One:

MacGyver closed the hotel room door to the outside world and slumped exhaustedly onto the bed. He rubbed his palms tiredly over his eyes, before surveying his surroundings for the first time.

Granted, Honolulu was a great place for some rest and relaxation, but he was hardly in a position to appreciate such luxury. The tight scheduling of meetings from the moment he stepped off the plane had left him wondering whether he would ever see the light of day again.

Despite the last minute rearrangements, the day had been successful from a business point of view, with only one remaining company yet to sign up for the new security package. But, this was most definitely Craig Phelps' baby.

Phelps had put together the proposal, written the presentations, and largely come up with the ideas himself. MacGyver still couldn't figure out what he was doing here instead. Phelps just wasn't the sort of person to step back and let someone else take the credit by sealing the deal. Whatever had stopped Craig Phelps from attending these meetings in Hawaii must have been of the topmost priority.

With a sigh, Mac stood up and stretched the kinks out of his under utilised muscles. The change of itinerary had arrived suddenly whilst he was waiting in the airport to board his flight home from Japan and he could still scarcely believe the speed at which his plans had been altered. From the moment he had been paged in the airport, finding himself first talking to Phelps, and then to his secretary, he had no chance for argument before he was hastily boarding a completely different flight altogether.

Apparently his luggage had been re-routed almost as swiftly, since his well-worn suitcase now sat on the floor of his hotel room waiting for its owner to finally arrive. Now all MacGyver had to do was to get some sleep. A task that, despite his exhaustion, would not necessarily be easy considering the fact that his body had no clue what time line he was in.

Mac was still pondering the perplexing question of Phelps' sudden change of plans when the telephone rang, surprising him with its loudness in the quiet hotel room.

Reaching across to the night stand, Mac picked up the receiver and answered tiredly, "Yeah?"

"Dad, it's me."

The tone of Sam's voice sent warning signals creeping down MacGyver's spine like freezing tendrils. "Sam? What's up?"

"Dad, I've got bad news."

MacGyver heard his son gulp, audibly struggling for control of his emotions.

"Pete?" Mac asked worriedly.

"Pete's fine, Dad. It's Terry." Sam swallowed again and drew a ragged breath, "She's dead!"

Mac sat down hard on the edge of the bed, the phone almost dropping from his suddenly limp fingers. He heard himself speak as though from a great distance.

"No way. That's not possible!" There were so many conversations they hadn't had yet.

"Dad, they think she drowned," Sam's voice hitched in his throat.

"What do you mean *think*?"

"They haven't found her body yet."

"Then what makes them think she drowned?" Mac heard himself ask, not even beginning to wonder who 'they' were yet.

"The police found her towel on the beach in front of her house, but there was no trace of her," his son explained painfully.

"What about Roadie?"

"They found him nearby, half-drowned and unconscious," Sam replied gravely, "The police believe he probably went in after Terry when she got caught in the undertow."

"No way," Mac cried in a voice just short of hysterical, "Terry's too experienced a swimmer to get caught out like that. She's been swimming in that stretch of ocean every day for three years. She knows the signs. She knows when to avoid the water. She wouldn't have got caught," Mac said adamantly. His last thought was reserved for himself: The ocean wouldn't do this to her.

"I know, but the police think she may have gotten careless and gone out too far, what with the weather being so calm the last few days."

MacGyver could hear the tears in Sam's voice. It was his son who had reunited him with Terry and now it was his son who had to pass on this dreadful news. Mac knew that in the short time since they had met, Terry had become a good friend to Sam as well as to himself.

"I don't know what to say, Dad. I'm sorry," Sam spoke again.

"I'm coming home," Mac said, suddenly determined to see the truth for himself. "Things are practically wrapped up here anyway."

"But how?" Sam objected, "What are you going to tell Markham and Phelps? They're not supposed to know anything about Terry."

Mac's heart skipped a beat at Sam's last words. "Of course!" he exclaimed, new dire implications filling his mind. "Sam, have either you or Pete been to see Terry lately?"

"Yeah, Pete went a couple of days ago. Why?"

Mac thought fast. It all fitted together. Phelps' sudden change of plans, diverting MacGyver off of his flight home to Los Angeles. The timing was too convenient to be coincidence. It could only mean that Phelps had deliberately kept him out of the way whilst they went after his friend.

Concern for Terry's safety had always lingered at the back of his mind, but Mac had never thought that Phelps would really go to such lengths to foil MacGyver's investigations into the Alliance.

"I think Pete may have been followed," Mac said, reluctantly voicing his fears.

"No, that's not possible. I told the driver myself to watch out for a tail."

"Why did you have to tell him? George knows by now. He's always on the lookout, wherever Pete goes."

"Because it wasn't George. He had to go off somewhere, so Pete had a substitute driver that day......." Sam trailed off, suddenly realising for himself where his father was heading. "Damn! You think they've got her?"

"Yeah," Mac responded grimly. "Looks like it."

"But why, Dad? Terry doesn't know anything."

"We know that, but the Alliance doesn't. Maybe Phelps thinks they can use her as leverage."

"Dad, they're right, aren't they?" Sam pointed out bleakly. "You're not going to let Phelps harm her!"

"I know that, but Phelps can't know for sure," Mac pondered, "This must mean that I'm closer to exposing them than I thought, though. Or why else would they take such a blatant risk?"

"Still, how are you going to come home without making your feelings obvious?"

Mac pondered for a moment, almost smiling at the idea forming in his head, despite the grim circumstances. "Pete *was* looking a little pasty when I last saw him!"

~~~~~~~~~~~

Terry came to with a jolt as someone slammed a metal briefcase down on a nearby table. Her senses slowly returned, detecting various changes along the way.

She shivered, as much from cold as from fear. She still had her swimsuit on, but someone had placed a pair of sweat pants and an unbuttoned denim shirt over the top. Her body was mostly dry, but she could feel the salt from the ocean sticking to her skin uncomfortably. As she slowly opened her eyes, she recognised the clothing as her own. They had been inside her house!

Trying to move her legs, Terry felt her bare toes, encrusted with sand, scrabbling against a cool varnished floor. Her ankles were bound tightly to the chair she had been placed in.

A flash of new fear ran down Terry's spine as she recalled what had happened. The two masked men on the deserted beach waiting for her when she had finished her afternoon swim. Roadie trying to stop them as she struggled. Then blackness. And nothing.

Nothing until now.

Slowly Terry raised her head, feeling it pounding from an unknown source. Her arms were bound at the wrist and she strained to focus on a set of constricting handcuffs, willing her hands to stop shaking as she lifted them to push damp hair from her face.

For a long time, Terry gazed at the shiny metal restraints, fighting increasing panic. She had been in this situation before. Granted, she never thought she would ever be in it again, but at least she had some experience to draw on. She had survived that time. There was no reason she couldn't do it again.

Terry felt her heart rate rise rapidly at that thought, long-buried memories suddenly vying for terrifying attention until her chest tightened in panic, painfully constricting her air intake.

She forced herself to draw a deep ragged breath, letting it out slowly and clearing her mind, focusing back onto the handcuffs and trying to slide one over her slender hand. It stuck fast below the thumb, gouging the skin with a pain that simply served to strengthen her determination to be calm and focused.

"Miss Wightman."

The voice startled Terry from her task and she glanced up to find herself staring into a pair of ice-cold, steely eyes, belonging to the masked man with the briefcase.

"Why don't you save your pretty hands from a lot of pain? I only have a few questions to ask you. If you answer them to my satisfaction, I will release you."

"Who are you? What do you want from me?" Terry challenged a little too loudly.

"Now, my dear. I thought I told you I want to ask the questions!" the man grinned, a malicious sight of white teeth surrounded by a black ski mask. "Why did Peter Thornton visit you?"

Terry's heart clenched anxiously as that simple question answered a few of her own. These had to be the people MacGyver had warned her about. The ones he was worried would try to threaten her in order to hinder his investigations if they ever found out about her relationship to him and Pete Thornton.

She had never taken Mac that seriously, it had all seemed like such cloak and dagger stuff, but now she was being proved wrong. And, from the first question, it was obvious how they had found out about her existence.

Terry glanced at a large wad of files the unknown stranger pulled from his briefcase, wondering if that could all possibly be about her. If it was, there was no sense in hiding her past, and there were some truths that couldn't hurt anybody.

"Mr Thornton is a trustee of a charitable fund run in my late brother's name," Terry explained honestly, boldly looking the man in the eye to support her statement.

"Ah, yes. The children's fund. I've read all about that in your file." The man patted the pile of folders. "You certainly make interesting reading! No wonder MacGyver is so besotted with you," he smiled cruelly again.

Terry swallowed, "That was nine years ago. And if you really did read everything, you'd know that we didn't exactly part company amicably."

"No. You dumped him!" the man sniggered, a horrible sadistic sound. "Didn't stop him from loving you though!"

"I think you're beginning to lose yourself in your own cloak and dagger fantasy world if you believe Mac is still in love with me after nine years apart!" Terry snorted.

"One thing I have always admired MacGyver for is his undying loyalty!" the man replied glibly.

"Well even his loyalty would be stretched towards someone he hasn't seen in nine years!" she bluffed unwaveringly, staring at the man as he started to laugh, a deep bellow, tinged with a malevolence that frightened Terry far more than this entire unbelievable conversation had so far.

Gradually the man regained control. He reached into his briefcase and withdrew a large brown envelope. Opening the flap, he pulled out a single sheet of photographic paper.

Even from a distance, Terry recognised the scrawled message written in felt tip pen on the back of the black-and-white picture. She knew the scene on the front very well. She also knew how well they must have searched her home in order to find it hidden at the back of a closet, resting amongst her other mementoes in a shell covered box that had belonged to her mother some thirty years ago. The thought of this man going through her private belongings to find it made Terry feel physically sick.

He held the photograph up for her to see, as if she didn't already know what it was. Then he read the inscription on the back.

"Together again! Glad to be of help. Love Sam."

Terry vividly recalled the day that Sam had taken that photo. It had been the weekend after he had reunited her and MacGyver, down on the isolated stretch of beach beneath her home. Mac and Terry had been sitting comfortably, shoulder to shoulder, smiling and deep in conversation, whilst Sam indulged himself with his beloved photography and playing with Roadie.

The pair hadn't even known he'd taken the photo until Sam had presented Terry with the print, along with the negative, knowing that they wouldn't want it left anywhere it might be discovered, but unable to bring himself to destroy such a great picture.

It seemed to Terry that Sam had gotten as much joy out of reuniting his father with her as they had, and her friendship with Mac's son had also blossomed.

Sam seemed convinced that it would only be a matter of time before the couple's relationship became as serious as it had been nine years ago, but from Mac and Terry's point of view, the jury was still out on that one. Both were getting so much out of their renewed friendship that neither one felt any need to take it further yet, and, with everything else going on in their lives, quite possibly they never would.

Even so, the picture in front of her told a different story. The scene and the inscription were practically incriminating evidence against any truths Terry could claim.

"Would it help if I told you we really are just good friends?" she asked quietly.

"No, but it might help if you tell me everything you know about MacGyver and his work!" Phelps grinned smugly, knowing he had the woman exactly where he wanted her.

~~~~~~~

MacGyver flew into LAX less than twelve hours after receiving Sam's phone-call, positive that Terry was still alive, having had plenty of time to think about the alternatives on the plane. He'd been through all the 'what if's' and even attempted to analyse his feelings for Terry. Out of it all, the only certain conclusions he had come to were that she wasn't dead and that he couldn't bear to lose her again after having only just found her.

Personal feelings aside, Mac was sure that Terry had been abducted. And he knew he had to find her fast before anything worse did happen.

Catching a taxi cab, he went straight to the hospital, finding the private room now housing Pete Thornton after he had been admitted with an expertly faked suspected heart attack. Sam was waiting impatiently at the older man's bedside.

"Mac, I'm sorry," Pete said as soon as he heard his friend's greeting. "I should never have gone to Terry's house without my usual driver."

"Forget it, Pete, it's not your fault," Mac assured him gently. "If they were that determined, they would have found out about Terry somehow, sooner or later. She knew that too, and she was willing to take the risk of being discovered by the Alliance because she valued our friendship. Now we have a chance to prove our worth to her. We have to find her fast, before they realise she really doesn't know anything." And before Phelps gets a chance to work on her, Mac added silently.

"MacGyver, what if Phelps finds out about Terry's history?" Pete asked worriedly. "She's got a lot of weak spots he could prey on."

"She may have had once, but I think Phelps will be sorely disappointed if he thinks Terry's going to break that easily."

Sam glanced at his father curiously.

"Let's just say that Terry didn't exactly spend the last nine years pining away for me!" Mac smiled grimly, "Sometimes the deepest weaknesses can become the key to a person's strengths!"

Sam frowned slightly, not knowing what his father meant, but knowing now wasn't the time to ask. "So how do we find her?"

"Easy," Mac tried to sound more confident than he felt, "We follow the leader!"

Pete nodded agreement.

"And what if Phelps is already in hiding?" Sam asked.

"Then we track him down!"

~~~~~~~

The enclosed room had no windows and no clocks and Terry couldn't be sure just how long she'd been awake. Even so, she was fairly certain that she had been up all night and that the masked man tormenting her apparently had an infinite amount of stamina.

For what must have been the hundredth time, he asked again, "What did MacGyver tell you about the Alliance?"

Terry felt so tired, that she could have sobbed at hearing his oft-repeated question if she didn't think that was exactly what he wanted. Instead, she took a deep, calming breath, tried once more to ignore the painful pounding in her head, and spoke slowly and clearly, "I told you, Mac hasn't said one word about any alliance or anything else to do with his work."

"If that's truly the case, how do you know the Alliance has anything to do with his work?" Phelps exclaimed gleefully, finally seeing a chink in the woman's armour. He was amazed that she had lasted this long. Her strength of resolve was unexpected considering the past weaknesses he had read about in her extensive file.

"I don't.......I didn't mean that," Terry faltered dejectedly, knowing that, with the stress and the lack of sleep, she was fighting a losing battle against a man who was undoubtedly an expert on interrogation techniques. And the trouble was, she was beginning to wonder whether she really knew anything or not.

She had always thought she only knew the basics, that something rotten was going on inside the Phoenix Foundation and that MacGyver was working there again in order to investigate. But come to think of it, they'd had a lot of conversations recently which had somehow gotten around to the subject of his work.

Mac was under an increasing amount of strain, and talking about it obviously helped. After nine years apart, one thing about their relationship that hadn't changed was their inherent ability to have a comfortable conversation. The substance of each discussion had not appeared to tell Terry anything of significance, but, now that she considered it more deeply, perhaps taken as a whole she knew more than she thought.

That realisation swayed her previously firm belief to shocking effect and suddenly Terry found herself wondering how she could avoid answering this man's incessant questions for much longer.

~~~~~~~

Telephone calls to Phelps' office, his cellphone, his home number and his service all proved fruitless in tracking down his whereabouts. The only information they did glean was that he'd told his answering service he would be out of contact for at least 48 hours.

MacGyver even considered contacting David Markham, but thought better of it when he realised how much time would be wasted explaining his unscheduled presence in Los Angeles.

"So, what now?" Sam asked as MacGyver replaced the telephone handset and glanced at Pete with worried eyes.

Pete read his mind, blindly gesturing him away. "Go!" he said simply. "Remember, *I'm* fine!"

Mac grunted in reply and then turned to his son. "We take a trip to the beach!" he told him, barely waiting for Sam to follow as he headed quickly for the door.

On their way to Terry's house, Mac and Sam stopped at the Animal Hospital to collect Roadie, who had been kept in overnight for observation after his near drowning. They needed all the help they could get if they were going to establish exactly what had happened to Terry, especially as it looked like Roadie was the only available witness.

When they reached Terry's home, less than twenty four hours after her disappearance was reported, Mac instructed Sam to drive another fifty yards along the highway before parking his Jeep. Putting Roadie on a leash, they headed directly down the cliff path to the ocean, quickly picking up the well-trodden pattern of dog prints left by Roadie who always followed his mistress up and down as she swam parallel to the shoreline.

They tracked the indistinct jumble of paw prints along the beach, moving closer to the house that stood on the low cliff central to the cove-like stretch of ocean. Before long, they came across a set of human footprints, obviously female judging from their petite size. They led several yards up the beach above the tideline before disappearing in a flurry of heavily disturbed sand.

Mac handed Roadie's leash to Sam and wandered away, staring downwards, searching intently as he went. It didn't take long to spot another set of Roadie's paw prints joining the affray and then the bare footprints appeared again, the pattern elongated as though their owner was running.

Reaching the point at which the faint footprints disappeared once more, MacGyver bent over to take a closer look.

"Find something?" Sam called.

"Yeah. Take a look at this." Mac signalled an odd marking in the sand leading back towards where Sam and Roadie still stood.

Sam moved closer, careful not to step on any of the impressions already trodden in the fine sand. He bent down beside his father and studied the area. "It looks like something has been brushed across the surface," he concluded.

"That's what I thought," Mac agreed. "If I had a suspicious mind, I would say that there was a scuffle between Terry and at least two men. Roadie joined in. Terry got away, but someone ran after her and caught her here. They then attempted to remove any incriminating tracks, probably with a couple of branches or something."

Silently, the threesome followed the brush marks back to the area of disturbed sand. There were no more signs of Terry's footprints, and any other discernible markings were soon lost among more obvious tracks that probably belonged to the emergency services members who had been called to the scene the previous afternoon upon discovery that Terry was missing.

That thought provoked a new question in MacGyver's mind, "Who reported Terry's disappearance to the police?"

"They didn't get a name. It was someone who claimed to be a friend of hers."

"Male or female?"

"Male," Sam confirmed, realisation hitting him, "Phelps?"

"Probably," Mac grimaced. "Trying to ensure the police believed Terry had drowned, so no one would go looking for her."

Sam turned to gaze up towards Terry's home nestled among the rocks and trees on the shallow cliff leading down to the beach. "I think I'll check out the house," he decided, lightly tugging Roadie's leash to get him to follow.

"I'll join you in a few minutes," Mac said distantly, still trying to sort through the vague trail of evidence they had found so far, his mind constantly being distracted by memories of recent times spent with Terry on this self same beach.

Roadie seemed reluctant to leave the spot where he had last seen his mistress, and eventually Sam let out the extendable leash and left the dog to his own devices. Then he began to climb the sand covered steps towards the back gate of Terry's secluded home.

Sam was nearing the top of the stone staircase, when the leash went slack. He twisted round to see Roadie running towards him across the sand, barking sharply as though trying to tell him something. Sam pushed on the button that retracted the long leash and held it down as the dog drew closer. At the same time, he continued on up the last two remaining steps to the top.

Roadie barked even more urgently as Sam reached the gate. The young man was about to lift the latch when he thought better of it. Instead, he turned to watch Roadie bounding towards him up the stone steps. The frown on Sam's face deepened when he heard an odd click as he shifted his left foot on the ground beneath.

Sam froze, focusing his gaze downwards to try and identify the source of the somewhat ominous sound. In the soft fine sand beneath his feet, he could just make out what appeared to be a saucer shaped object buried at the top of the steps. A saucer shaped object that he was now standing on top of.

"This can't be good," Sam murmured to himself. Then he looked towards Roadie. "Stay, boy," he called, gesturing with the hand still holding the leash. "Don't move!" he added, half to himself.

Once he was certain that the dog understood, Sam glanced up, seeking out his father still somewhere down on the beach. "Dad!" he yelled in Mac's direction.

"Yeah, Sam! Find anything?" MacGyver looked up to see his son standing at the top of the stone steps.

"Sort of," Sam shouted shakily. "Don't suppose they ever mined this beach during the war?"

"Er, no." Mac gazed at him quizzically, cocking his head slightly, "Why do you ask?"

"Because," Sam coughed, trying to moderate his voice from its panicky high pitch, "unless I'm mistaken - and I really hope I am - I think I've just trodden on a landmine!"

~~~~~~~

"I told you a million times already, I don't know anything about any alliance!" Terry yelled, any thought of staying calm dissolving rapidly in her frazzled effort to hide her realisation of just how shaky the ground was that she stood on.

Swallowing convulsively as she tried to regain her composure, Terry glared at the malevolent face poised scant inches in front of hers. But the masked man simply smiled knowingly, positive that he was entering the last stretch of this particular interrogation stint.

Slowly, he shook his head and tutted with his tongue, then he stood upright and turned away. Terry slumped back into the chair in relief, taking solace in the fact that he had finally moved out of her personal space. For the last hour, he had been hovering so close to her that she was starting to think he could probably hear every thought going through her mind.

Now, Terry relaxed slightly, feeling less threatened by him for the first time in hours, her pulse rate beginning to return to some semblance of normality. She watched as the man in the ski mask opened his metal briefcase and withdrew a Thermos flask. Slowly and deliberately, he unscrewed the stainless steel cup and lid and poured something steaming into the heat proof container.

At the sight of the hot drink, Terry could no longer deny to herself just how cold she felt. From her restricted view, tied to the chair, it was difficult to identify the type of room she was in. The varnished floorboards, plain white walls, and high ceiling arrayed with lights, reminded her of a ballroom or dance floor.

Whatever it had once been used for, the room was now chilly to the extreme, air-conditioned until it felt refrigerated. Her scant clothing was little protection against such a cool environment. In fact, she could hardly feel her bare toes. But up till now she had managed to ignore the climate's eroding effects on her.

Phelps glanced at her briefly, hiding his pleasure at the sudden shiver he saw coursing through her body. Calculatingly, he brought the cup of steaming liquid to his lips and pretended to sip, making satisfied noises when he replaced the drink on to the table.

Suddenly, he looked at her, grimacing as though he had forgotten his manners. "I'm sorry dear, would you like some?" he offered with an apologetic smile. "You must be cold. It's really not very warm in this old building, is it?"

Terry stared at him guardedly, trying to decide how much it could hurt. The drink was obviously safe, since he had just taken some himself. Besides that, it was something hot and if she could just get a bit warmer, perhaps she could last a few more hours of questioning. It seemed worth the risk.

She nodded reluctantly, watching closely as the masked man approached her again. Carefully, he placed the stainless steel cup between the fingers of her bound hands and studied her as she sniffed it experimentally. Apparently satisfied, she began to sip the hot liquid.

Terry grimaced at the sweet taste of the tea, but she kept drinking, appreciating the warming effect of the liquid spreading throughout her body.

The masked man saw her reaction to the taste. "Not enough sugar?" he asked innocently.

"Too sweet," Terry murmured between sips.

When she had drained the cup, the man took the empty container from her hands and placed it on to the table. Then he turned back to her and said, "Now, let's get back down to business."

With an inward sigh, Terry said a silent 'thank you' for the much needed break and steeled herself for another repetitive round.

Managing to deflect his onslaught of questions for another twenty minutes or so, she began to feel strangely woozy. At first, she thought it was simply the effects of exhaustion, until she was overcome by a decidedly unpleasant drunken feeling.

For no apparent reason, Terry felt frighteningly out of control and suddenly she knew, beyond a doubt, that this was no simple symptom of sleep deprivation. She had been drugged. The masked man had tricked her into drinking tea that must have been laced with some kind of chemical substance.

Gathering her rapidly fading powers of concentration, Terry tried to focus on every word that left her mouth, terrified that she might say something she shouldn't. Vaguely, she heard the masked man ask another question. A question which she thought she had no intention of answering.

"MacGyver's not doing this for himself. He's doing it for Pete," Terry's words slurred, tumbling from her mouth uncontrollably. "And so long as Pete Thornton's still alive, Mac will keep on investigating the Alliance. He'll never give up!"

The sound of her own girlish giggling brought Terry back down to earth with shocking abruptness and she became aware that she was talking, as if holding a friendly conversation with the masked man. She couldn't remember what question he had asked, and, more to the point, she couldn't remember what her answer had been.

The last thing Terry remembered with any clarity was a feeling of drowning, clawing her way back to the surface as she desperately tried to recall what she had just said, terrified that it was something important and revealing.

"Oh God," she gulped convulsively. "What did I say?" she asked. But the whisper of her own voice faded into nothing and her eyes rolled up to meet her closing eyelids as she passed out limply.

Mercifully, she was saved from the sight of the masked man's smug smile.

~~~~~~~

It wasn't often that Sam saw his father truly phased, but this was definitely one of those occasions. His response to Sam's landmine discovery was still echoing around the rocky promontories skirting each end of the beach as MacGyver began to run towards the house.

"Don't move!" he shouted unnecessarily, quickly climbing up alongside Sam and kneeling on the step below him.

Pulling his Swiss army knife from his jeans pocket, Mac began to probe carefully around the edge of what was a circular metal shape buried in the sand. Before long, the all too familiar object was revealed.

"Unbelievable!" MacGyver murmured in disbelief.

"What is it?" Sam asked nervously.

"It's an anti-personnel mine! Phelps must really mean business this time," Mac said grimly.

"But why would he snatch Terry if he's out to kill you this time? That doesn't make sense!" Sam shook his head as hard as he dared without dislodging his foot from the pressure pad of the landmine he had activated. "Unless it's not Phelps who took Terry."

"It has to be Phelps. Who else would do something like this," Mac said distractedly as he continued to dig out the mine.

"What about Murdoc?"

Mac stopped and stared up at his son, pondering the suggestion. "No way, it can't be. For a start, Murdoc always works alone and I'm positive there were at least two men down on the beach. There's no way it could be him. I don't believe it."

"Dad, maybe you don't want to believe it," Sam said softly, knowing the implications for Terry's safety were even more dire if Murdoc really did have her.

MacGyver turned his head and gazed out at the ocean for a long moment, contemplating the consequences if Sam was right. Then, with difficulty, he shook the thought from his mind and concentrated on his more pressing task.

Having uncovered enough of the mine, MacGyver could see that it was not booby-trapped in any way. All he needed to do was find something that would maintain the pressure on the detonator in place of his son's foot.

Searching around, his gaze fell on the dog leash still held tightly in Sam's hand. The plastic casing covering the circular wheel around which the extendable leash was rolled would be a perfect fit to the concave centre of the landmine.

With a silent apology to Roadie, and a promise to buy him a new one, Mac took the leash from Sam's hand and pried opened the casing with the largest blade of his Swiss army knife. Then he pulled a flattened roll of his trusty duct tape from another pocket and tore off a couple of six-inch strips, sticking them to his left sleeve, before lying on his side and shifting as close to Sam's foot as possible.

"Okay, Sam, just relax and let me move your foot when I need to," Mac told his son soothingly.

Painstakingly, MacGyver began to work the piece of flat plastic beneath Sam's left boot towards the detonator at the centre of the landmine. More by touch than sight, he gingerly pushed the plastic cover over the detonator and pressed down hard.

"Okay, lift your foot, real slow!" he instructed quietly, keeping one hand on the plastic as he reached for the duct tape with the other. Pulling each strip of tape from his sleeve, MacGyver carefully taped down the plastic cover over the detonator to hold it in place.

Finally able to move, Sam reached for the roll of duct tape and pulled off another long strip, placing it over the top of the other two for good measure.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Mac sat back to admire their handiwork. With a glance at his watch, he grinned and said, "Twenty minutes! I must be getting old. I used to be able to do that in ten!"

"You've done that before!" Sam exclaimed, shaking his head incredulously.

"Not for a long time." Mac shrugged, "But it was a common occurrence in 'Nam."

"Somehow, you never cease to amaze me!" Sam said with a hint of pride. Then he waved towards the landmine, its distinctive shape now half dug out from the sand. "Anyway, thanks for this. I owe you one."

"Only one?" MacGyver joked, breaking the tension.

Sam's wide smile faded rapidly when he saw his father begin to probe around the mine again. "Now what are you doing?"

"I'm digging it out, of course. We can hardly leave it here!"

Instinctively, Sam found himself moving down the steps away from his father and towards Roadie, who was still waiting patiently. He bent down to give Roadie a warm hug of thanks for the attempted warning, then turned to watch Mac work.

With the detonator still safely depressed, it did not take long for MacGyver to unearth the entire mine and turn it over to unscrew the casing, ready to make it safe. Removing the metal cover, Mac peered closer as if he didn't believe what he was seeing. He blew out his cheeks in disgust and looked up at his son.

"It's empty!" He lifted the hollow casing and showed Sam. Then he smiled suddenly. "No way this was Murdoc," he said emphatically. "Murdoc would have planted a live landmine. He never pulls his punches, not unless he wants me to do him a favour!"

Sam watched a multitude of thoughts and emotions cross his father's face as he weighed up the pros and cons of that discovery.

"Of course," MacGyver murmured, "It had to be a blank. It's just a warning. Anything else would have made for an extremely suspicious death!"

"Not to mention messy!" Sam said ruefully. He pointed at the landmine, "So this was Phelps' work?"

"Looks like it," Mac muttered grimly. "I think he's trying to tell us that he means business. Next time will be for real!"

"So what now?"

"We find him and give him back his toy!" MacGyver resolved bitterly.

~~~~~~~

Pete Thornton was finally sleeping comfortably in his private hospital room, now that the frequent interruptions from nurses charting his vital signs had abated. Having been kept in overnight for observation, the attending doctor had gone off shift convinced the patient was stable. Now they simply awaited the final results of various tests in order to establish whether this "episode" had really been a heart attack or just angina.

Pete's steady breathing was accompanied by the soft regular beep of the heart monitor hooked up to his chest. A nurse entered quietly, lifting the chart from the end of the bed and flicking through it rapidly. Then, the newcomer moved across to the intravenous drip supplying the patient with life-giving fluids and withdrew a syringe and vial from his uniform pocket.

When he was satisfied that he had administered the necessary dose, the nurse placed a small matchbook into the sleeping patient's hand. Then he tossed the empty hypodermic and drug container into the trash, along with his disposable latex gloves.

The man left the room as stealthily as he had arrived.

~~~~~~~

The duty nurse was about to go on her mid-morning break, first returning to the desk to collect her purse. As she bent down to retrieve it from beneath the counter, her eye caught the monitor for the patient in room 212. The regular pattern of heart beats was beginning to change.

"Page Dr Clark to 212, stat," she called to the nurse at the desk, dropping her purse again as she ran around the counter to the room four doors along the hall.

Rapidly, she double-checked the patient's pulse rate and blood pressure from the monitors, her task accompanied by the erratic beeping of the heart monitor beside the bed. Then she lowered the head of the bed down and removed the pillows supporting the now unconscious man.

"What have we got, Carol?" the doctor called breathlessly as he ran into the room.

"Patient was admitted last night with a suspected myocardial infarction. Tests came back negative. Dr Peters thought it could be atypical angina, so we kept him in for observation and further testing. Now he's showing signs of arrhythmia and his blood pressure's falling - 80 over 50."

The doctor rechecked the patient's extremely irregular heart beat, hurriedly assessing the situation. Before he could make any diagnosis, the monitor insistently marking time with the patient's rapid heartbeat suddenly became a steady dead tone.

"He's going into asystole." Dr Clark pulled his stethoscope from his ears and hung it back around his neck, issuing orders rapidly, "Okay, epinephrine one milligram IV push."

The nurse responded immediately, grabbing the chemical from a med cart and injecting the required dosage into the intravenous drip connected to the patient's arm.

Within seconds, the monitor's single tone changed to an intermittent beep, but the beats were too far apart. The doctor watched the digital pattern for a moment. "We've got a heartbeat," he declared with some relief, "But it's too slow - bradycardia. Atropine, one milligram IV push, stat!"

Once the dose had been administered, Dr Clark again placed his stethoscope to his ears and listened for himself. Satisfied, he checked pupil dilation with a pen light taken from his top pocket and then glanced again at the monitors.

"Okay, he's returning to normal sinus rhythm, but still non-responsive." He turned to the nurse who was now holding the patient's chart, "Carol, order a CBC, lytes, potassium and blood gas tests. We have to find out what's causing this reaction asap, before there's any permanent damage."

~~~~~~~

By the time MacGyver and Sam arrived at the hospital, summoned by an emergency call to Sam's cellphone, Pete Thornton's condition was stable but serious. The tests had come back showing that he had somehow been overdosed with potassium, causing him to develop hyperkalemia, and thus a very irregular heart rate.

The patient had been immediately treated with calcium chloride to counteract the effects. He was also receiving a concoction of numerous other life-saving chemicals via his intravenous drip. But it was too early to say whether he would fully recover.

Mac and Sam had just been leaving Terry's house when the call came through, having spent several fruitless hours searching for clues. The only thing of note they had found was the negative from a photograph that Sam had taken of his father sitting with Terry on the beach shortly after their reunion.

The presence of the photographic negative lying on Terry's bedroom floor was deeply worrying to MacGyver, especially when combined with the apparent absence of the black and white print that went with it.

From what Mac could remember about that picture, it could easily serve as incriminating evidence to contradict any claims Terry might make that there was nothing going on between her and MacGyver. Now, he had to assume that the photograph had fallen into Phelps' hands, a thought that sent chills down Mac's spine.

MacGyver's chill worsened when he walked into Pete's hospital room. The previously healthy man was now lying unconscious after an apparent overdose that could only have been an attempt on his life. What Mac could not figure out was why anyone would try to kill Pete Thornton after all this time. What could it possibly achieve? If they had wanted Pete dead, surely they would have tried long ago?

Either way, it was far too much of a coincidence that this had occurred now, whilst Terry was still missing. Somehow the two incidents were inexorably linked.

With a heavy sigh, Mac pulled up a plastic chair and sat at Pete's bedside. Quietly, he lifted his friend's hand in his, taking comfort in its warmth and surprised when Pete's fingers began to move.

Turning to look at his friend, MacGyver noticed his eyelids flickering slightly. "Pete?" he called softly, saying a silent prayer in hope of a response.

Before long, Pete's lips moved in recognition of the voice. "Mac?" he croaked dryly. "That you?"

"Yeah, Pete, it's me," Mac breathed in relief. "Sam's here too."

"Terry?" Pete asked hoarsely.

MacGyver swallowed hard. "No. We haven't found her yet," he admitted.

"You will," Pete assured him, patting his hand. As he did so, Mac felt something drop onto the bed beside his fingers and glanced down to where their hands met.

Lying on the crisp white hospital linen was a matchbook, totally out of place in such a sterile environment. Mac and Sam both stared at the item as if it was of alien origin. Then, MacGyver gingerly picked it up by the edges, mindful not to smudge any possible fingerprints as he examined it.

The matchbook was printed up with the name of a local nightclub, one that Sam recognised immediately.

"The Devil's Cauldron. That place closed down several months ago!" Sam explained to his father.

Mac raised an eyebrow, "Well, apparently someone's still using it!" He turned over the matchbook and read the writing scrawled on the back. It simply said '10pm'.

"What does it mean?"

"Showdown!" Mac said solemnly.

"You think Phelps wants you to follow him there?" Sam shook his head unhappily, "Dad, he's toying with you!"

"I know, Sam, but we have nothing else to go on. That photographic negative we found in Terry's bedroom proves that Phelps knows about her connection to me. He'll stop at nothing to find out everything he thinks she knows." MacGyver gazed at his son, "I have no other choice if I'm going to get Terry away from him in one piece."

"Well, then, I'm going with you," Sam said resolutely.

Mac pondered for a long moment, then he realised that was something else over which he had little choice. "Okay," he nodded, "but if Phelps thinks I'm going to wait until 10pm, he's in for a surprise."

~~~~~~~

Something had changed by the time Terry awoke. Something more than the fact that her head was pounding even worse than before and her mouth felt like it was filled with cotton wool.

For a start, she could no longer see. Blinking rapidly in the darkness, Terry realised that someone had placed a blindfold on her. She frowned beneath the cloth covering her eyes, wondering what purpose it served. Perhaps her captor was simply fed up with having to wear his ski mask. Then again, she had to take it as a good sign that he was continuing to make an effort to hide his face from her. Maybe he really didn't plan to kill her. She could only hope.

A weak sob of anguish caught in Terry's throat at that thought. There were so many things she still hadn't done in her life. So many relationships she had yet to explore. So many adventures still not ticked off on her list of things to do.

Admittedly, if she were to die today there was one all-important thing she had at least been given the chance to achieve. That was the chance to meet up with Mac again after nine years. The chance to seek his forgiveness. And the chance to renew their friendship.

With growing resolve, Terry realised there was one more thing she wanted the chance to do. One thing she had to tell MacGyver before she could give up on this world, this life. And in order to achieve that one thing, she not only had to survive just a little bit longer, but somehow she had to find a way to escape.

Remaining absolutely still, Terry held her breath, listening intently to try and determine whether there was any other presence in the room. She heard nothing. No tell-tale breath sounds. No rustle of clothing or squeak of shoes on the varnished floor. She appeared to be alone at last.

Shifting position, Terry finally registered that she had been moved from the chair she was originally sat in. Instead, she was now seated on the floor, her legs outstretched before her.

Her arms had been pulled tautly behind her and bound around a pillar that felt like cold marble beneath her fingertips. The handcuffs were obviously still around her wrists. She could feel the sharp metal cutting into her skin as she struggled to free herself.

Working on her restraints, Terry clawed with the fingertips of her right hand against the metal enclosing her left wrist. With brute force, she managed to jam the left cuff across her knuckles, feeling it grow slick with blood as it scraped away the skin.

Needing a better purchase to pull her arms apart, Terry bent her knees, tucking her bare feet beneath her to slowly push herself upright. Finally, standing with her back against the cold marble pillar, she flexed the fingers of her right hand and took a deep breath. Terry gritted her teeth against the pain, as she pulled her arms apart with all her strength, grasping the metal restraint with her fingertips and dragging it over the knuckle of her left thumb.

Gouging one last lump of skin from her hand, the cuff finally slipped free. Terry let out a gasp of agony and relief as her arms dropped to her side, revealing new pain emanating from stiff sore shoulders. But before Terry even had a chance to flex her aching muscles, a voice suddenly sounded in her ear, heart-stoppingly loud in the silent blindness surrounding her.

"And I thought I could trust you not to do anything stupid!"

The speaker's hot breath felt searing against her cold right cheek and Terry screamed, her pulse racing as adrenalin pumped through her veins. She recognised the voice as that of the masked man. Somehow, in her concentration, she had not heard him approach. Unless he had been there all the time, silently mocking her actions.

It seemed that all her efforts and pain had been for nothing. Then again, she did now have a free pair of hands.......

Without another thought, Terry clasped her palms together in one large fist and aimed high on the body she could now feel beside her. The man obviously did not think she had it in her and she took him by surprise. Her swinging hands made contact with his face, catching the side of his nose with the full force of her body weight behind it.

The man let out a grunt of surprise, swearing colourfully. And Terry took the opportunity to run.

Blindly attempting to put some distance between herself and her assailant, Terry knew that she faced perhaps the biggest decision of her life. If she removed her blindfold and failed to escape, she would surely be killed rather than be allowed to identify her captor. If she didn't remove her blindfold she had no chance to escape, but she might still be set free once this man had finished with her.

At that last frightening thought, Terry's in-built survival instinct kicked in. She tore off the blindfold, blinking rapidly against the light and peering around desperately to find some means of escape.

Spotting the table, she remembered seeing a fire exit to the left of it. Changing direction, Terry sprinted for the door, ignoring any movement and noise coming from behind her.

She was reaching for the handle when a shot rang out, terrifyingly loud in the empty room. The noise echoed around the solid walls in ever-decreasing circles, leaving her ears ringing discordantly.

Feeling like she had nothing to lose, Terry inhaled sharply, then grabbed the handle and pushed. The heavy fire door wouldn't budge an inch and, instead of another gunshot and a bullet in the back, the sound of malevolent laughter reached her ears.

Terry crumpled, beaten into submission by her own feeble efforts. It seemed that her captor had thought of everything. And he was clearly enjoying his little game.

Shakily, she turned to face him, somehow unsurprised when she saw he was still wearing a ski mask after all.

"Why are you doing this?" she cried furiously, her voice rising, "What do you want from me?" The last word was a choked off sob and Terry scrubbed a palm over her eyes, angry with herself at her display of weakness.

"Actually, I only came to give you a drink of water," the man said calmly.

Studying him in sudden confusion, Terry watched him put away his gun and hold up what looked like a bottle of mineral water in his other hand.

A flash of memory pushed to the fore, somehow previously forgotten, and with vivid clarity Terry recalled being given hot tea by this man. For some reason, she remembered nothing after that, up to the point of waking earlier. Until now, she hadn't realised that any memories were missing, but the sight of that bottle sent an unfathomable fear coursing through her and she knew that, without a doubt, something had happened as a result of that last drink.

"I don't want it," she said guardedly, waiting to see if his reaction would tell her anything more.

"Oh, I think you do!" he snarled, moving towards her threateningly.

Desperately, Terry glanced around, searching for any other means of escape. On the far side of the room there was a set of double doors, but there was one major moving obstacle between them and her. And, short of making a suicide run past the man with the gun, it meant that the only exit available to her was the one she was standing beside. A locked door.

She grabbed the handle with both hands and rattled it again. The smooth metal slid beneath her fingers, becoming slick and coated with blood from her damaged left hand. Her efforts were futile, the door was secured tightly. Out of ideas, Terry began battering her fists against it frantically.

"Help! Let me out of here!" she pleaded with anyone who might be listening.

Without warning, a pair of strong hands wrapped around her wrists and jerked them up behind her head painfully. Then, the masked man swung her around and slammed her back against the door, its metal handle jamming into her spine bruisingly.

Pinning her arms up with one hand, he fumbled in a pocket for the key to the handcuffs and reached up to undo the empty manacle now hanging from her right arm. Cruelly, he forced the cuff back onto Terry's bloody left wrist and closed it tight against her flesh. Then he unlocked the right side and re-secured that one more tightly too.

Terry struggled against him futilely. His arms were stronger than anything she had left to give and she only succeeded in causing him to press his body closer to hers to keep her still.

With her wrists securely bound again, he moved away far enough to release them and allow her to lower her arms in front of her. With one hand holding her in place, he reached inside his shirt and withdrew the bottle of mineral water, holding the cap between his teeth as he unscrewed it.

Terry eyed him warily. Still wriggling in her efforts to escape his grip, but fast losing all hope. Intently watching his left hand around the bottle, she was startled when his right suddenly grasped her throat in a brutal death grip.

Terry spluttered helplessly, all remaining air leaving her windpipe with the impact. Slowly, she suffocated, unable to refill her lungs. Wide eyed, she stared with panicked confusion into the cold gaze of her captor.

Offering no verbal explanation, he simply forced the bottle between her lips. Then, slightly releasing his stranglehold, he poured the water into her mouth as she desperately inhaled, coughing and choking on the fluid. With every gasping breath, Terry received another mouthful of water, forcing her to swallow or else drown her lungs.

By the time the bottle was empty, her clothes were soaked. The masked man carelessly tossed the empty plastic container away and released her.

Terry's knees buckled and she sank to the floor, her chest heaving and her throat raw from coughing. With every ragged breath and convulsive swallow she could feel the bruising his brutal grasp had left on her throat. Hot tears of rage and defeat stung her ice-cold cheeks and she pulled her knees up to her chest, burying her head in her shaking hands as she tried to fight her uncontrollable sobbing.

She was allowed only a brief respite. Moments later, a hand grabbed her arm and Terry was yanked to her feet. She swooned dizzily, the geometric patterns of the varnished wooden floor blurring before her eyes.

Vaguely, she recalled there was a reason why she hadn't wanted to drink the water, but, when she tried to put two and two together, it no longer added up. Giggling helplessly, she tried to do the maths in her head, but for some reason she felt far too mellow to worry about it. Instead, she relaxed against the wall sleepily, blissfully unaware when her captor finally unlocked the door and dragged her on to the landing beyond.

By the time they reached the stairs, the second stronger dose of drug had taken full effect and Terry passed out limply. Phelps caught her deftly in his arms and lifted her off her feet, carrying her down through the fire exit to the waiting truck.

~~~~~~~