Stacey was waking up, and she hurt like she couldn’t believe… especially her left elbow. Her ankle was sore, too. What had those goons done to her? And where was she? The last thing she remembered before collapsing on that houseboat’s deck was the sound of footsteps, getting closer. She was hearing men’s voices, and was scared. Who was there? She slowly opened her green eyes, and took in her surroundings.
She was inside, on a couch or bed, covered with a blanket, though she was still in her wet clothes, minus her jacket, which she saw hanging on the arm of a nearby chair. When her eyes took in the man sitting beside her, she opened her mouth to scream.
“Don’t be scared, Elizabeth. It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help.” The man, in his forties, she guessed, was tall and powerfully built, six feet at least, dressed in black jeans and a green shirt. His blond hair was cut in a shoulder-length mullet, framing a ruggedly handsome, clean-shaven face, and his dark hazel eyes were gentle. His voice was deep and reassuring. Was he someone from WAPLA? No, she didn’t think so; his hair was too long, and he seemed too nice. But Stacey had been around the militia long enough to know that you couldn’t always tell a sympathizer just by looking at them.
“Who…who are you?” That was all Stacey could manage. But the man seemed to understand.
“My name’s MacGyver. This is my friend Pete Thornton.” An older man stepped into Stacey’s field of view. He was shorter and stouter, with a bald head, wearing khakis and a red shirt. Thornton peered at her, and Stacey realized he was nearly blind. Glaucoma, she guessed. Her mom’s brother had developed it, shortly before he and her mom had died in a mysterious car crash.
MacGyver continued. “Pete had come over, and we heard you fall and cry out. We brought you in to get you out of the rain. We’re on my houseboat.” He said nothing more, and Stacey realized he was curious, wanting to hear her story, but not wanting to push, knowing she was hurt.
She wanted badly to trust these men, to tell them everything, but was too scared to do so. “What do you want? The tape? The documents? If so, I don’t have them. I…I threw them in the harbor,” she said defiantly.
MacGyver and Pete exchanged baffled looks. Then they realized she was probably referring to what Mac had found in her backpack. But why were they so important?
“Elizabeth,” Pete said gently, “we have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. You’re running from someone, that much we can tell. But if you don’t tell us what’s going on, we can’t help.”
“If it makes you feel better,” MacGyver broke in, “we’re both good guys. We both work for the Phoenix Foundation. I don’t know if you’ve heard of it, but…” He nodded at Thornton, and both of them held out their company ID’s.
Stacey was startled. “The Phoenix Foundation? Of course I’ve heard of it. One of my dad’s friends worked there, a long time ago. I know they do good things.” She felt a little better now, but was still afraid. What if those ID’s were forged…?
Well, what choice did she have? The police were no help: they’d scoffed at her story and returned her to her stepparents. Her stepfather was good friends with the sheriff in their small town, and if she went to the police here, the first thing they’d likely do would be to call her stepparents… and she’d be right back where she’d started.
She was in no shape to do anything on her own right now, anyway. And her gut told her that these men were honest, and would help her. Her fear hadn’t gotten her anywhere but hurt and almost dead. All right, Stacey, she told herself. You need to trust these two, no matter how much you don’t want to. You can’t exactly jump up and run off, you know.
She took a deep breath. Pete and MacGyver were waiting patiently. She looked from one to the other, then began.
“…I may as well tell you everything, right from the start. First of all, my name’s not Elizabeth Ross. My real name is Stacey Rick. Well, actually, my real name is Anastasia. I hate it, though. I’ve gone by “Stacey” ever since I was a kid.”
At that, MacGyver and Pete exchanged a grin. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you, Mac?” Pete’s eyes twinkled.
“Who, me?” Mac tried to look innocent. Then his grin got the better of him again, and he turned to Stacey. “Anastasia’s pretty mild. Try Angus on for size. You can see why I go by my last name.”
“Really?” Despite herself, Stacey had to smile, too. This guy, she realized, was either an extremely clever militia hit man, or else he was who he claimed to be. He seemed so down-to-earth, so genuine. And his eyes and contagious smile seemed to be casting a warm, soothing light into her frightened, battered heart. Thornton seemed to be the real thing, too. Maybe she really could trust them…
“…I grew up in Minnesota, in Roseville.” Stacey started her story. “I was really happy as a kid, even though I was an only. Mom and Dad tried to give me a little brother or sister, but it just didn’t happen. I started school when I was four, and skipped the fourth and eighth grades. I graduated a year ago in June. I’ll be sixteen in March.
“I was really close to my parents. They’re both dead now. Dad died mysteriously three years ago… the doctors never figured out what was wrong. Mom died in a car accident last year. They were definitely my best friends when I was growing up. Oh, we had our differences and our problems, but we almost always got along. I don’t have any other relatives living, either. My grandparents are all dead, and the only uncle I had was on Mom’s side. He was killed in the same car crash that took Mom’s life. He didn’t marry or have kids, so I don’t have cousins. And as far as I know, neither did Mom or Dad.
“After Mom died, the authorities came to take me into custody. I was handed over to a couple I’d never met, in Montana. They seemed nice, and I let them adopt me. But it turned into the ultimate nightmare.”
Stacey felt tears running down her face, burning the bruises. This was the hardest part of her story to tell.
Mac was watching her closely. Something very bad had happened to this sweet, tough, bright girl.
“Stacey.” She looked at him. “If you need to rest, we can keep talking later.”
“No, I want to tell it. I have to.” Those steady hazel eyes told her she was safe, and he offered her his hand. She took it. His long fingers wrapped gently but firmly around her small, bleeding, battered hand. “God, your hands are chapped. I’ve got something for that. Just a minute, I’ll be right back.” He hurried off.
Pete continued to watch her carefully. Though the picture was far from complete, his gut told him that she was telling the truth, and that something awful had happened to her. Though he couldn’t see her very well, he could hear the anguish in her voice. His big heart went out to this young woman lying injured and nearly helpless on his best friend’s couch. He also stood in awe of his friend. Though MacGyver had a tough-guy shell, a brilliant mind that Pete never quite figured out, and was the best escape artist God had created since Houdini, he was also the most compassionate man Pete had ever known. Mac had lost both of his parents, his grandfather, and many friends and girlfriends, mostly in recent years. His losses had given him an incredible heart for those who were suffering. Though Pete was himself compassionate by nature, Mac always seemed to know exactly what to say and do around a hurting person. He was also incredibly smart when it came to human nature, and could read other people like most folks could read books. One of MacGyver’s four-- or was it five?-- master’s degrees was in psychology. Pete reached out and gently touched Stacey’s shoulder. “You’re safe, Stacey. Mac and I aren’t going to let anything more happen to you. The Foundation can provide protection for you until whatever this is gets straightened out. Our people are the best.”
Stacey managed a smile at the older man, who had the same compassionate dark eyes as MacGyver. “Thanks, Pete. But let me tell you the rest of my story first. It’s complicated, and I really am afraid for my life.” His hand stayed on her shoulder, a strong, comforting hand.
Mac returned, with a tube of hand cream, a dish towel, a bottle of Tylenol, and a glass of water. “Let’s get that arm of yours tied up. You almost certainly have a broken elbow.” But first, he squeezed some cream out of the tube, and gently rubbed it into her hands. His hands were warm and gentle, his touch comforting. Her skin was so chapped, the cream burned, and she drew in a sharp breath. “Yeah, I know, it really stings when your hands are this chapped. But it’ll feel better in a little bit. Hold your arm across your chest. That’s it.” He wrapped the dish towel around her arm, and then tied it at one side of her neck, making a sling. Mac then uncapped the Tylenol, and shook out two capsules, handing them to her. She put them in her mouth, and drank the water he gave her. “Those should help. I know broken elbows hurt like hell; my son had one, not too long ago. He was really in pain.”
“What…what happened to him?” Stacey was relaxed enough now to be curious.
“Fell on the ice while he was visiting some family friends in Minnesota.” Sam had been in a sling for weeks, and had told him, “Dad, with all the injuries you’ve had, be damn glad you’ve never broken an elbow, and hope you never do. Its torture…hurts like the seventh circle of hell.” He had had to take some time off his job as a photojournalist, but had healed well.
Mac sat back down beside Stacey, and she picked up her story where she’d left off…or tried to. Tears welled in her eyes, and she couldn’t seem to find her voice. “I’m sorry, this is the hardest part to tell. I wouldn’t wish what happened to me on my worst enemy. But here goes.” Mac squeezed her free hand gently. Stacey looked up again into his warm, compassionate eyes. She no longer felt so terribly alone.
“My stepparents were both alcoholics, but functioning alcoholics, if you know what I mean. But even when they weren’t drinking, they were mean. My stepdad abused me…he used to come into my bed at night. People were coming and going at all hours, even at three and four in the morning. I don’t think I ever got a full night’s sleep in those two years. It was weird, especially because we lived way out in the middle of nowhere. No electricity, no running water. Eventually, I got used to being out in the country, and to the constant comings and goings. But something wasn’t right. I wasn’t even fourteen yet, but I knew. There were guns in the house, all over. Also, there was a shack out in the backyard that smelled weird, kind of like ammonia. I didn’t want to know what they were doing out there. When I was on the run, I came across a newspaper article that said methamphetamine labs were spreading across the country, especially in rural areas. I realize now that’s probably what that shack was. My stepparents would sometimes talk in whispered tones about how the government was coming to get them. They would always tell me that the government was no good and not to be trusted, that they spied on freedom-loving people and persecuted them. Never mind that it was ‘the government’ that made it possible for them to adopt me in the first place. They were real hypocrites.” She made a face. “They also tried to teach me to shoot, and I did learn. I was a good shot, but firing a gun scared me, and I wouldn’t touch them after that. For that, they would hit me, as they did for the littlest thing. My stepdad used to use a belt on me, and sometimes even a wooden paddle. And I was a teenager! Sometimes they would just plain punch me, knock the wind out of me, or give me a black eye.” Her expression turned to one of disgust. “I guess I should have reached out for help then, but…
“Finally, one day in about February of last year, school was closed in the middle of the day because of a snowstorm. I had to walk home; the buses weren’t running, and I couldn’t reach my stepparents to come get me. I walked in, and there were a bunch of people in the living room, people I didn’t even know, bending over something on the coffee table. When my stepmom saw me, she pulled me in, saying, “You’re going to want to hear this. These people are really speaking truth.” I listened, but the guy who was talking was ranting the same old crap I’d been hearing all along. He even took it farther, saying that paper money was no good, and was just a government conspiracy to make everyone dependent on ZOG, which they said meant “Zionist Occupationist Government.” Oh, yeah, and they always told me that Jews were evil, they were planning to take over the world, and had to be stopped. People of color were “mud people,” and were in league with the Jews. My stepparents’ friend said that only white Christians were worthy of living and running the world. This group claimed to be Christians, but they weren’t like any decent Christians I’ve ever known. I mean, I grew up going to a pretty liberal Methodist church, and the pastor always preached love for all people, no matter who they were or what they believed, and he taught that Christians should work for peace and justice for all people, no matter what color or religion they were.
“I can’t even remember some of the other goofy things my stepparents and their friends said. I mean, I was just thirteen, but even a thirteen-year-old knows crap when they hear it. They didn’t like me going to public school, either, but let me go, saying that they needed to ‘fly under the radar’ of ZOG. If they pulled me out, they would just draw attention to themselves. Part of the reason I graduated early was that I wanted like hell to get away. I was entering my sophomore year when I went to live with them, but I was smart enough to do two years in one and get my diploma just after my fifteenth birthday.
“After I graduated, they told me they were actually glad they’d let me go to school, because I could ‘blend in with the enemy’ and be of great service to the group. They told me that generally, women were inferior to men, but because I was smarter and stronger than most women, I was special, and would make a really great spy or even a front-line soldier. I got sent to their physical training. It was like a boot camp from hell, but I’d been into dance since I was a kid, so I was already in pretty good shape. They taught me hand-to-hand combat, among other things. I guess that’s the one good thing that’s come out of all this. I wasn’t afraid to run, to be alone on the street, because I know I can take care of myself.
“But,” she added, “it was made quite clear to all the girls and women that we were second-class citizens. We might have been spies and soldiers like the guys were, but we were still expected to cook and clean for them. Also, no one was formally married in the group. There were no couples. Any of the guys could have sex with any girl he wanted, and it didn’t matter what she thought. She just had to be older than twelve.
“I sneaked away late one night, when the guards were looking the other way. I’ve been on the road for three months, trying to figure out where to go and what to do. I’m afraid to go to the police. They’ll just send me back… my stepdad is really good friends with the sheriff in the town… and if that happens, I’m sure to be murdered. I have information that’s got to come out, or the whole country is in big trouble.”
She stopped to take a rest. Talking like this was tiring her out, but she needed to get it out of her system, and she was already starting to feel better. She took a long drink of water.
A cold feeling of dread had settled itself in the pit of MacGyver’s stomach. He looked at Pete, and saw that his friend was thinking the same thing he was. “Militia?” asked Mac. Pete nodded. Mac found himself feeling deep anger at the way Stacey had been sexually abused. Years ago, he had met a young teenage prostitute on the street, and had wound up helping her get away from her pimp. Jennifer had needed an awful lot of counseling after the way she had been used, but she had survived, and was now, appropriately enough, a social worker at the Challengers club, having graduated from UCLA last year. Ever since then, Mac had been especially sensitive to girls who had been forced into sexual slavery.
Both he and Pete felt their hearts sink. If a militia was behind all this, and was pursuing Stacey, then she really was in deep trouble. People like this didn’t need much of an excuse to kill. Mac and Pete’s friend, Lieutenant Kate Murphy, was in charge of tracking hate groups for the LAPD, and she had given them both a basic primer on what they were looking at. The Phoenix Foundation had also started to monitor groups like this, though their knowledge was still pretty sketchy.
Militias, both Pete and MacGyver knew, had been around since about the mid-80’s. They were the brainchild of radical racists, who held, among other things, that the U.S. government was wrong to regulate guns—any weapons, really, predicating their argument on an extremely narrow and strict interpretation of the Second Amendment. They also held that the only valid Amendments were those that made up the Bill of Rights; all the rest, including the ones that granted blacks and women the right to vote, weren’t legal. They argued that the government was not doing its part to “maintain a well-regulated Militia,” despite the existence of the National Guard, hence the necessity of a heavily armed populace. They held that blacks, Jews, and other racial and religious minorities were not worthy to live, and that Jews controlled the government (hence the term “Zionist Occupationist Government”), and that it was the duty of true white Christians (whom they believed were “the true Israelites”) to overthrow ZOG, and prepare themselves for the “race war” that they said was coming. In that war, they would execute all Jews and other minorities, as well as mainstream and conservative Christians who didn’t agree with their racist pseudo-theology (to say nothing of Muslims and people of other non-Christian faiths) and rule the world. They had more crazy ideas than that, but those were the main ones, common to most racist, antigovernment activists. Militias had taken off during the farm crisis of the 80’s, when farmers were searching desperately for answers and for someone to blame for them losing their farms and livelihoods. Mac had crossed paths with a racist gang a few years ago, when his black friend Booker Wilson had been murdered, but that gang had not been tied to a militia, as far as Mac or the police could determine. A lot of militia ideas had bled over into the mainstream, and many right-leaning individuals subscribed to this paranoia to one degree or another, though most would never dream of actually overthrowing the government, or of actually orchestrating a second Holocaust.
Stacey was feeling a lot more comfortable, and a lot less scared. The Tylenol was starting to kick in, and she was warming up nicely. She was also starting to trust Mac and Pete. “I’ll go on with my story, but… do you think I could take a quick shower? I’ve been in these clothes since yesterday.”
MacGyver smiled. “Sure. I was going to offer it to you, but I thought we’d better warm you up first. He pointed towards the bathroom. “Right around the corner. Towels are in the closet next to the tub. Let me know if you need anything. Oh, and you can toss your clothes into the washing machine in the utility room, next to the bathroom. I’m going to do laundry tomorrow anyway.”
“Thank you.” She stood up, still wobbly and achy, but at least she was warm now. She picked up her bag, and headed for the bathroom.
Pete sighed. “What do you think?”
Mac groaned and rubbed a hand across his face. “Well, depending on why these goons are after Stacey, we may have just a fairly quick brush with them, or a full-scale war. Either way, it’s not going to be pretty. These people are determined, Pete, and they’re even more dangerous than the various characters I’ve crossed paths with over the years. They make even Murdoc look like a saint. I’ll be amazed if all three of us come out of this one unscathed. Well, in her case, no more scathed than she is already.”
Pete couldn’t help a smile. MacGyver had been a smart aleck, to one extent or another, ever since Pete had known him. It was one of the things he liked about his friend… Mac could always make you smile, even if briefly, no matter how grim the situation was.
They sat quietly for awhile, then the talk turned to other things for a few minutes. Then the bathroom door opened, and Stacey emerged. Her bruises were just as bad as before, but she looked a little better nonetheless. She had changed into a long black nightshirt, and had combed out her short, wet hair.
“Feel better?” Mac asked with a smile. “You hungry?”
The young girl smiled for the first time that night. “Much better, thanks. It was a little hard washing my hair with my elbow the way it is, but I managed. I’ve been doing it for two days now. And now that you mention it, I could use something to eat. Just some soup or a sandwich would be fine.” She settled herself on the couch again.
Mac headed for the kitchen, which was really just a part of the living room, separated only by a low counter, so he could still hear the conversation. Pete frowned. “Two days? Just when and how did you break it?”
“More like who broke it for me.” The expression on her face darkened. “I’ll get to that in a minute, Pete. When I found out what was happening, I broke into the main compound under cover of night, and stole the tape and the documents. I know what’s in there, and it’s definitely enough to take them down. The militia dispatched a couple of goons to come after me and kill me. That’s what they do to ‘traitors,’ you know. They caught me, but I guess they either forgot they’d given me combat training, or else didn’t know how good I was.” Her grim expression gave way to a sassy grin. “I kicked both their bums, but not before one of them knocked me down. I landed with my arm straight under me, like this.” She held her good arm straight out in front of her body, her elbow at a ninety-degree angle. Her smile faded. “It hurt when I landed, and I knew I’d broken something, but I had to get away. I just got up and started running like the devil was after me. I managed to lose them, but I didn’t sleep all last night, what with the pain and the fear that they’d find me. I kept moving when it got light, and somehow I got to the marina tonight. I knew they had picked up my trail, and were close behind. This houseboat was the first possible hiding place I’d seen all day. I got onto the dock, and well, I guess you know the rest.”
Pete’s frown had darkened into a scowl. “What wouldn’t I like to do to these goons…picking on a kid your age! Physical and sexual abuse, assault, possible conspiracy to commit murder, attempted murder…not to mention probably exposing you to a meth lab...” His voice trailed off for a moment, then he added, “You’re damn lucky you didn’t break your collarbone, too.”
Mac was quacked off, too. He had always had a soft spot in his heart for kids, especially kids in trouble, and Stacey had hit that spot, hard. Unable to speak, which was unusual for him, he paused in what he was doing and stared at the wall. But his dark eyes had changed. They no longer shone warmly, they glittered like an animal’s. His protective instincts were coming to the surface, and he made a silent vow that Stacey would not fall back into the hands of these… “people” didn’t seem the right word, they didn’t even seem human… he couldn’t find the right word… but she would be safe, whatever it took. He would protect her, and get her away from this situation, permanently, no matter what it cost.
Even if the cost turned out to be his own life.

Carl and Ed had found their way to the local WAPLA compound, where they fell into bed immediately, without talking to anyone. As bad as the situation was, there was no way to contact the Commander tonight. The phone lines were down, and it would be at least sometime tomorrow before they would be back up. But come tomorrow, they would get back on Stacey’s trail.
“We’ll hang around the marina, see if we can spot her,” said Carl. “If anyone asks what we’re doing there, we tell them we’re looking for a cousin who lives there. She’s not going to get away with this, Ed. If she slips through our fingers, we always have the backup. Once we have her and those documents and that tape, we’ll get rid of her, make it look like an accident or an illness, like we did to her mom and dad. No one will be the wiser, until March 20th…. and then, boom! Everyone in the world will have to pay attention to us, and we’ll finally be able to make our dream of a white America come true!” His eyes gleamed.

“So that’s when I knew they were really up to no good.” Stacey was seated comfortably on the couch again, finishing her sandwich. The soup bowl was already empty. She was explaining that she had become so trusted that the leaders had let her sit in on their most confidential meetings, and that was when she discovered the group’s plan. It turned out that they were planning a major terrorist attack for late March, and their plans included bombing federal buildings, assassinating political figures including the President, and going on a rampage to wipe out racial and religious minorities and gays. They would start in Montana, near their compound, and fan out across the country, taking their time about it.
“They call themselves the White American People’s Liberation Army. Theirs is the most ambitious plan for a hate group since the Order tried to do something similar around ’84. But this is much bigger.”
“Do you really think they could pull it off?” asked Pete. “I mean, this is pretty wild for a group of, how many did you say there were? Seventy-five, eighty people?”
She chewed the last of her sandwich thoughtfully for a moment before answering him. “More like a hundred, maybe a hundred and ten. I know that doesn’t sound like much, but those are only the real hard-core types, who live at and around their compound in Montana. They have sympathizers all over the country, who they keep in touch with by internet and secret message systems. They have weapons the Army would envy. Speaking of which, I know for a fact that they stole weapons from an Army weapons depot. That’s one of the things that are in those papers. And I wouldn’t underestimate these people, Pete,” she warned. “They’re deadly serious. This is not just a bunch of guys running around the woods, playing war games. I probably don’t need to tell you that, but it’s just a friendly reminder. What they’ve already done to me should prove that point, and if they find me, they will kill me. Remember, I lived among these bastards for almost two years, and I know what I’m talking about.”
MacGyver had to smile. She sounded so adult, so worldly-wise. Then his smile turned into a frown. She’d had what should have been some of the best years of her life, not to mention her innocence, stolen from her, first by the deaths of her parents, which sounded suspicious anyway, then by this group of crazies who hated everyone who wasn’t white and didn’t believe exactly like they did. Stacey had definitely been through the proverbial school of hard knocks at a very early age, and had had to grow up very fast. She’d done well for herself so far, though. If she could just survive this ordeal, and be able to see this group brought to justice, it might help her get on with her life, with the bright future Mac knew she had.
“Maybe we should get a look at those documents, and listen to that tape,” suggested Pete. “Would give us a leg up on this. I’m going into the office tomorrow for awhile anyway, so I can get the investigation started right away. And,” he added with a frown, “we need to find a place for you to stay. Given the situation, a Phoenix Foundation safehouse might be our best bet. It’ll take a few days to make the arrangements, though. At the moment, we’re running short of room.”
“She can stay with me, until we can make arrangements for the safehouse,” said Mac. “I’ve got space. She can take my room, and I can sleep down here, on the couch. I’m a light sleeper, so if anything happened, I’d be right here. Also, I agree with you on the tape and the documents, but it’s getting late, and all of us are tired. We can pick it up in the morning. For now, I’ll put them in my safe.”
“Thanks,” answered Stacey. “But I’m not sure that’s a good idea, MacGyver. If WAPLA’s goons tracked me to the marina tonight, they may have figured out which houseboat I wound up on. If so, both of us are in deep trouble. Actually, make that all three of us. If not, they’ll figure it out soon enough.” She looked at Pete. “I… I didn’t mean to drag you into this, either of you. I’m sorry.”
“What else could you have done?” asked Pete. “If you hadn’t come up on Mac’s boat, you’d likely be dead by now. All three of us know that. Anyway, MacGyver and I are no strangers to dangerous situations. We’ve faced some pretty nasty characters, both together and separately. We’ve taken some lumps, but we’ve always managed to get away, mostly thanks to Mac’s ingenuity. You’ll probably see what I mean before this is over,” he said as Stacey started to ask a question. “Mac,” he added with a grin, “when this is over, and you have time, you should tell her about your brushes with Murdoc. Especially that first one. She’d get a real kick out of that.”
MacGyver nodded, also grinning. “Murdoc’s bad news, for sure, but his attempts to do away with both of us do make for entertaining stories.”
Stacey couldn’t help laughing. “You two are so mysterious. Who is this…Murdoc, you called him?”
“Extremely long story. Like Pete says, I may have a chance to tell you when this is over.” Mac stood up, yawning. “Right now, I think it’s time for all of us to get some sleep. Pete, I’d better call you a cab. I’d drive you home myself, but I don’t want to leave Stacey alone.”
“Good idea. Until we can get her into a safehouse, I think one of us should be with her all the time. I know,” said Pete, as Stacey started to protest. “I know you’re capable of taking care of yourself, and I admire that. But from what you’ve told us, I think you’re in way over your head, especially with the evidence you’re carrying. And that doesn’t even take your injuries into account. You’re in no position to be on your own right now. Let us lift a little of the burden here, Stacey.”
She nodded. “To be honest… and I never thought I’d be saying this… it’s kind of a relief to have someone taking care of me for a change.”
Mac smiled at her. “We all need to be taken care of sometimes, Stacey. There’s no shame in accepting someone’s help. Even I’ve had to let folks take care of me a few times, as the result of my various adventures…and misadventures. I’ll go call that cab for you, Pete. That is, assuming the phone works.”
“I’d love to hear some of your stories. It sounds like you have a lot of interesting ones,” she answered as he headed for the phone.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Pete put in. “Mac’s the original cat with nine lives.”
Stacey found herself smiling again. Finally, she was beginning to feel safe. Though she didn’t really have a choice in the matter, her gut told her that Pete and MacGyver could be trusted.
Mac returned. “Phone’s up. I reached Yellow Cab, and they’ll have someone here within the hour.”
Pete yawned. “Great. Thank you.”
The three of them sat talking awhile longer, until Pete’s cab came. They said goodnight, and Mac took Stacey upstairs, supporting her so she could walk with her injured ankle, carrying her backpack in his other hand. He showed her the bedroom, and she collapsed into his bed.
“God, it’s been so long since I slept in a real bed.” She stretched out and sighed. “I’ll have to figure out how to sleep, with this arm as painful as it is.”
“I’ll bring up the Tylenol for you, and leave it here with a glass of water.” Mac sat down on the bed, looking at the young girl. “You’re going to be safe, Stacey. We’ll nail these bastards and stop them. In the meantime, Pete and I will be looking out for you. As soon as the safehouse is available, we’ll move you in there. You’ll have twenty-four hour security, and the location is secret. No one will find you there.”
“You sure?”
“The Phoenix Foundation has been protecting people for twenty years, and has never lost anyone.” He smiled again, his hazel eyes lighting up and warming her to her core. “We’ll figure this out, Stacey. But there’s not much more we can do tonight. Sleep as long as you want tomorrow. You deserve it. I’ll be here all day.”
He patted her shoulder, then started to leave. “MacGyver…” Stacey felt tears coming to her eyes.
He turned. “What?”
“I don’t know what to say…thank you just doesn’t seem like enough, but I guess it will have to do.” Her voice caught in her throat.
“I’m just glad Pete and I were here tonight, and could help.” He smiled at her again. “Get some sleep, now.” He left, closing the door and turning out the light.
Before Stacey had time to think her next thought, she was fast asleep.

“What the hell…? What the *bad word removed* do you mean you lost her?” Commander Phil Johns was dressing down Carl and Ed. “How did you manage that?”
The two looked at each other. Carl found his voice first. “Sir, we were tracking her, and did manage to grab her. But she fought us off…I couldn’t believe it, either… and then she took off running. When we went looking for her, we couldn’t find her, and we couldn’t exactly go door to door asking if anyone had seen her. But we think she’s hiding in a marina in L.A., and we think we know which one. We’ll find her, Commander. We think she’s injured, and if that’s the case, she can’t have gotten very far.”
Phil got right in Carl’s face. “You better have her back here within seventy-two hours. We’re getting good and close on this plan, and we cannot afford to have anything go wrong. I’ll put the backup plan into motion, but we still need to find her and eliminate her. Unless we pull this off, we might as well give up. And if that little bitch manages to get those documents and that tape to anyone associated with ZOG… hell, anyone on the outside, period… we’ll be going down in flames. I hope you two *bad word removed* remember that! Now, get some sleep. I’m going to need both of you up, fresh and ready to go, no later than 0700 hours.”