“OK,” said Carl, “How much longer are we going to wait? We’ve been here two hours already, and no sign of them.”
Ed sighed. “I’d say we give up for now. For all we know, they could already be on to us, and skipped town or something. It’s Sunday, anyway. Who knows where they are?”
“Right. Maybe we should start checking the area outside LA, see if we can find a cabin or something. And yet…” Carl paused, to stretch. “I sure as hell would hate to miss ‘em, if they are here. The Commander would never let us hear the end of it.”
“Well, we’ve got other things to do, anyway. And we may not even have the right boat. Better make sure we know who we’re tracking, before we take out an innocent guy.”
They started back towards the parking lot. Just as they got in the car, a truck pulled up a few spaces away. They stopped to watch as a tall blond man got out, locked his truck, then headed down the dock towards the very houseboat they’d been watching.
Carl drew in a breath. “You have that photo the Commander gave us?”
“Right here.” Ed handed it to him.
Carl looked at the photo. The guy was in his late thirties or early forties, well over six feet, strong build, blond hair in a shoulder-length mullet cut, dark eyes. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said softly. “If that’s MacGyver, then we just lucked out in a big way. And if that’s not him, that’s his identical twin.”
“What now?” Ed looked nervous.
“Nothing, for the moment. We better make sure we have our ducks in a row here. Remember, it’s not just this guy we’re after. It’s also Stacey, and the documents and the tape. The Commander told us to bring them in alive, remember?”
“Right. It’ll be way too much fun to know they’re dying when we watch that big boom that takes down the Phoenix Foundation.” Ed’s eyes danced like a maniac’s. For just a moment, even Carl was scared of him. What the…? I never heard anything about that. Then again, everything’s gone kind of topsy-turvy since Stacey ran off. Well, the Commander must know what he’s doing. “Should we leave a calling card, do you think?”
“Hmmm. Not a bad idea, just to let these do-gooders know exactly who they’re dealing with.” He frowned. “But not now. It’s broad daylight, and there are way too many people around. I’ll sneak back here tonight, when it’s dark, and MacGyver will have a nasty little surprise waiting for him tomorrow morning.”
“How about Thornton?”
“That’s a little tougher. He’s blind, remember, so he won’t be able to see it. And we don’t know if he has any family living with him. Let’s kick that one around a little.” Ed may not have been as hard-core as he was, Carl thought, but he did have some good ideas now and then. “Better yet, maybe some phone calls will scare him off.”
“But how do we get our hands on Stacey? She’s at the heart of this, remember.”
“I have a feeling that’ll work itself out once we take care of MacGyver and Thornton. Stacey will be on her own again, and injured, to boot.”
“I don’t know, Ed. A wounded animal is always the most dangerous.”
“Come on, Carl. How dangerous can Stacey be? She has to be hurt pretty bad…I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s at least got a broken arm or a sprained ankle. Yeah, she kicked our bums, but we’re mostly responsible for that. Anyway, our inside informant will be keeping an eye on her, so she’ll never be out of our sight.”
“Inside informant? I didn’t know anything about that.”
“Yeah, not too many of us do. I happened to overhear the Commander talking about it just before we left on this assignment.”
“Well, if we have an insider on this one, then why the hell are we out here?”
“Our informant was not originally assigned to keep an eye on Stacey, you idiot. He was supposed to infiltrate the Foundation for our plan. But when Stacey stumbled upon MacGyver’s houseboat, well, the opportunity was just too good to pass up. The Commander told him to get himself assigned to the safehouse, and he did.”

Late that night, well after MacGyver had gone to bed, a shadow slipped down the dock to his boat, staying away from the lights. Quietly, it stepped onto the boat’s deck, resulting in a soft creak. The shadow froze, ready to run if necessary.
Mac stirred in his sleep, his senses sharp from years in the Special Forces, then as a field agent. His eyes opened, and he lay still, listening. What was that? He listened for awhile, but heard nothing more.
Still, his instinct told him something wasn’t right. He got up, and headed downstairs.
Outside, the shadow, not wanting to waste time and energy, quickly placed a card on the doormat, weighting it down with a stone so the gentle breeze wouldn’t blow it away. The shadow slipped away down the dock, melting into the darkness.
Mac opened the door and looked around, but saw and heard nothing. I could have sworn I heard someone out here. He went to the kitchen and retrieved a flashlight. Returning to the door, he shone the light around the deck, but everything seemed quiet. Just as his light passed over the doormat, though, a chill ran through him that had nothing to do with the cold night. He felt his hair stand on end, and his pulse quickened.
On the doormat, held in place by a stone, was a white card. Picking it up, he read:
“WHITE AMERICAN PEOPLE’S LIBERATION ARMY. To secure a homeland for the white race and a future for our children.” A graphic of a clenched fist provided a chilling visual. He turned it over. “We know you know where she is. Lead us to her, and we might let you live,” was scrawled on the back in pen.
Mac headed back to bed, but tossed and turned the rest of the night, his heart pounding, uncharacteristically frightened and worried.

“You found this on your doormat last night?” Pete looked up at his friend, a look of concern creasing his forehead. Mac had come straight to Pete’s office in the morning, and Pete had used his magnifying glass to read the card.
“Yeah, and I didn’t sleep too well afterwards.” MacGyver was pacing the room, playing with a ball of crumpled paper, a sure sign that he was agitated. He stifled a yawn and tried to look nonchalant, but the fear and weariness in his hazel eyes and etched on his ruggedly handsome features was all too plain.
Pete was really worried now. This was the first direct threat they’d had. And if MacGyver was frightened, it was a serious situation. Pete had learned the hard way to respect the younger man’s instincts. The last time the two had faced off against Murdoc, Mac had known exactly who was after them, and Pete had belittled his fears. He should have known better: Mac’s imagination may have been wild, but it didn’t run away with him. MacGyver had seen quite a bit in his forty-eight years, and it really took a lot to rattle this brawny and brilliant Vietnam vet, ex-Special Forces agent and ex-DXS agent. Pete had nearly paid for that skepticism with both of their lives. He now listened to MacGyver when he was scared, and took him seriously.
“I think we should tell Stacey right away, Mac.” MacGyver looked torn as he threw himself into a chair.
“I don’t know, Pete. On the one hand, she may be able to help us determine their likely next move, and she does deserve to stay informed. On the other, I don’t want to scare her unnecessarily. The poor girl has experienced enough fear to last her the rest of her life.”
“I understand your desire to protect her, Mac, and under any other circumstances, I might agree with you. But we’re not just talking about Stacey here, remember. We’re also talking about the very existence of the Phoenix Foundation, and possibly the lives of at least hundreds of Phoenix employees, not to mention the lives of innocent people of color and minority religions.” He looked at MacGyver with a resigned expression on his face. “She’s all we have to take these people down, Mac. I’m afraid we don’t have much choice here.”
“I guess you’re right.” Mac let out a sigh that seemed to come from his very soul. “I’m going to stop by and see her this afternoon, anyway. You want to come along?”
Pete shook his head. “I’m up to my bum in alligators as it is, and anyway, I think you know Stacey somewhat better than I do. Seems she’s comfortable with you, and may take it better from you than from both of us.”
“Stick me with the dirty work. That’s you, Pete,” MacGyver grumbled as he headed out the door.
“Oh, Mac?”
“Yeah?” Mac stuck his head back in the door, a weary expression on his face.
“I managed to get a hold of my friend over in the state child welfare department. He should be getting back to me by tomorrow with Stacey’s adoption records. I should also be getting the preliminary report on the investigation into her parents’ deaths in the next few days, too.”
“Good. At least we’re making progress somewhere. I’m planning to give the Center for Social Justice a call first thing tomorrow morning, and see what they can tell us.” Mac headed down the hall, his heart heavy with what he was about to tell Stacey.

“Oh, my God.” Stacey’s eyes were wide with fear. “You found this outside your door this morning?” She looked up at him.
“Yeah. I don’t exactly rattle easy…Pete can tell you that… and I’m definitely rattled.” Mac sighed and looked at her from where he sat in the armchair. “What do they do after something like this?”
Stacey was shaking badly, but she looked blank. “To be honest with you, Mac, I really don’t know. I was never privy to the details of threats and so on. I was trusted, but not that trusted. You have to be around the militia for a long time before you start hearing these kinds of details.”
“Well, I’m going to be contacting the Center for Social Justice for more background and help tomorrow, anyway. Maybe they have some ideas.” Mac sighed again, and stretched restlessly. “I know this has you frightened, Stacey, but Pete and I aren’t going to hide anything from you. You’re the real target here, and you have the right to stay informed.”
She looked at him, and though she was still shaking, her expression was steady. “I do appreciate that, MacGyver. It scares me to death, knowing what they’re up to, but I feel better knowing the details. The devil you don’t know… well, you know what I mean.”
“I do indeed, Stacey. Pete is looking into your adoption records, and should have at least some information by the end of the day tomorrow. Also, we’ll be getting the investigation into your parents’ deaths going.” He stood up. “I hate to rush off like this, but I promised Sam that we would do something this afternoon.”
“That’s all right. You guys have fun. I see you have some good movies here, and there are a couple I’d like to watch. I’ll find something to keep me occupied.”
“Good. I’ll keep you posted if anything else comes up.”

“How’d it go?” asked Carl as Ed slipped into the room.
“Good. The deck was a little creaky, and I was afraid I might wake him, but I just left the note and got out of there as fast as I could.”
“Nice work. If that doesn’t scare him off, we may have to up the ante. And that means…”
“Yeah, I know. That’s the part I hate, though.”
“Just remember, Ed, we’re doing this for ourselves and our children. The future of the white race depends on it.” Carl’s eyes gleamed.

“Center for Social Justice. Kim speaking, how can I help you?” asked the woman’s voice on the other end of the phone. The sun shone through the office windows, and it promised to be a beautiful day, at least, outside. It was eight o’clock California time Monday morning, ten o’clock Alabama time.
“Hi, Kim. My name’s MacGyver, and I’m calling from the Phoenix Foundation in Los Angeles, California. I need to talk with someone about a militia group that we’ve crossed paths with out here.”
“All right. I’ll transfer your call to the Intelligence Project offices, and someone there should be able to help you.”
“Thank you.” MacGyver waited while the call was transferred, and soon it was ringing again.
“Intelligence Project, this is Amy.”
“Hello, Amy.” Mac introduced himself, and explained why he was calling. “We’ve started tracking hate groups at the Foundation, but our knowledge is pretty limited. This young lady who showed up at my place on Friday night is in serious danger from these folks, and now we’ve found out that they’re planning an attack on us,” he concluded.
“Your timing is excellent,” Amy answered. “Our folks just picked up on the planned attack this morning, and we were just about to call you. Now that I’ve got you on the phone, I guess that won’t be necessary.”
“What can you tell me about this bunch?”
“Well, the White American People’s Liberation Army is one of the oldest militias around, though they’re also one of the most elusive. They’ve been around, under one name or another, ever since the mid- 60’s.”
“That long?” Mac was startled. “I thought these groups of cuckoos didn’t start coming out of the woodwork until the ‘80’s.”
“WAPLA was originally formed as a Nebraska chapter of the KKK,” explained Amy. “When the Klan began to lose a bit of its luster, sometime in the ‘80’s, they changed their name and outer trappings, changed their philosophy a bit, and took on a more quasi-military structure. They moved out to Montana around ‘90, and built a compound about sixty miles north of Big Sky, way out in the boonies. They wanted to be in on the ‘latest thing,’ if you will. Even racists like to keep up with the Joneses,” she added wryly.
“Just how dangerous are they? I mean, do they have a long history of violence, or are they mostly hat and little cattle?”
“Mr. MacGyver, I would not be exaggerating if I told you these folks were meaner than a skilletful of rattlesnakes, and about a hundred times as lethal,” she said seriously. “Think of the Klan on steroids, throw in a strong strain of racist, apocalyptic ‘Christianity,’ and add military weapons and tactics, and you’ve pretty much got WAPLA. They’re one of the most dangerous groups the Center has tracked. They make the Order look mild. I’m sorry,” she added, “I forgot you don’t know much about these groups, and you’ve probably never even heard of the Order.”
“Stacey told us a little bit,” answered MacGyver. “She said something to the effect that the Order tried something similar to WAPLA’s current plot around ’85 or ’86.”
“That’s right, actually, it was ’84. We were on their hit list. They were caught before they could do anything, thank the Lord. And the KKK came after us around that time, too.”
“Burned your offices, right?”
“Right. Both the Klan and the Order tried to assassinate Steve Knight, our lead trial counsel and one of the best civil rights attorneys in America. The only reason the Klan didn’t take out Steve was because the FBI gave him a heads up, and we were able to tighten our security. They gave him and his fourteen-year-old daughter one hell of a scare, though.”
“What happened?” Now Mac was curious.
“Two guys with rifles got onto Steve’s property one night in December of ’84, and though the guards saw them, they didn’t catch them, but they did scare them away. And the FBI caught wind of the Order’s plot in plenty of time to give us sufficient warning. Didn’t scare Steve off, though. He never ceases to amaze me. The man’s braver than an entire company of Marines.”
“He sounds like someone I’d love to meet someday.”
“Well, if all goes well for you folks and you take out WAPLA, maybe you could come visit us here for a celebration. I’d especially like to meet this young lady, Stacey. She sounds pretty damn brave, herself.”
“She is, Amy. You folks would love her. Maybe we could get away for a few days once this is all over. We’ll see. Is there anything else you can tell me?”
“WAPLA has about three dozen murders, some cross burnings and other intimidation incidents to their credit, at least that we know of. They have a tendency to pop up and do something, then fade back into the woodwork, so they’re very hard to catch. A few of their folks have been caught and convicted of murder, assault, and whatnot, but no one has been able to bring down the entire group. We have some indications that their latest plan involves stealing weapons from military installations all across the West, though nothing concrete.”
“They sound like a real piece of work. Well, you’ve shown me yours. I guess it’s time to show you the rest of mine.” MacGyver told Amy about the tape and the documents that Stacey had pilfered from the compound.
“My God, Mr. MacGyver,” Amy gasped. “That’s about the best information anyone’s ever gotten on one of these hate groups, and definitely the best anyone’s gotten on WAPLA. That’s even more extensive than what we have, and we consider ourselves on the cutting edge of this intelligence. Nothing like someone who’s actually been inside one of these outfits.”
“No kidding. Stacey ran partly because of what she found out, but in large part she ran because she was being subjected to some pretty nasty physical and sexual abuse, not to mention emotional abuse, too. She also thinks they may be operating a methamphetamine lab on their property. Her parents and her only uncle died under mysterious circumstances, and my boss and I don’t think their deaths were accidental, or coincidental. She was supposedly adopted by this couple who’s mixed up with WAPLA. We have a hunch that something was very fishy about the adoption. Pete is looking into both of those angles as we speak. If we’re lucky, he might have some information for me by the end of the day.” He paused. “But Stacey is being stalked by these guys, and she’s terrified they’ll find her and kill her, thanks to the information she stole. They already caught up to her once, and did their darnedest to beat her to death, but she got away without them getting the information. She was just lucky she was able to get to my houseboat, and that both Pete and I were there. She has a broken elbow, a slightly sprained ankle, a black eye, and assorted bruises. Also, she’s short of sleep, and has been eating badly, if at all, for the three months she’s been on the run. I’m amazed that she hasn’t gotten very, very sick. She’s under the protection of the Phoenix Foundation as we speak, in one of our safehouses and under heavy guard.” He paused. “Oh, one more thing. I almost forgot.” He told her about the “calling card” he’d found on the doorstep that morning.
“That’s a bad sign, Mr. MacGyver. That means they’re on to you, for sure. I would definitely watch your step, if I were you. They may very well escalate from here. Burning your home and trying to kill you would not be too much for them.” Mac felt a chill run down his spine. “I’d get the police involved, if I were you.” Before he could reply, Amy chuckled softly. “Stacey sounds like quite the girl. She and Morris would get a kick out of swapping stories,” she remarked. “Well, Mr. MacGyver, I’ve told you really everything we know. Hope it helps.”
“It does, Amy, it does. And I’m hoping we may have some more information for you folks, too. I’ll let you know if we turn up anything new.”
“Great. We’re always looking to expand our knowledge. If you need any help, don’t hesitate to let us know. Our investigators are very good and very experienced, and we’d be happy to help out in any way we can, either in the investigation phase or the prosecution phase… hopefully, it will come to that. Conspiracy to commit terroristic acts, conspiracy to commit murder, child abuse, assault, attempted murder, illegal possession of military weapons, possible manufacture of illegal drugs… and that’s just the beginning. We’ve been trying to nail WAPLA for years, and with your help, we could potentially put them away for a very, very long time.”
“We’re keeping our fingers crossed. Thank you, Amy. You’ve been tremendously helpful with this.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. MacGyver. Good luck, and by all means, watch your step. WAPLA’s an offshoot of the Klan, remember, and that means they’re very, very dangerous. I should get your phone number, just in case we stumble across anything else that might be important.”
Mac gave her his phone number at the Phoenix Foundation, and hung up. It wasn’t much more than they already had, but at this point, any additional information was better than nothing at all. He sighed, and went to find Pete.

“So that’s what Amy told me,” finished Mac. “Any luck on your end?”
“Quite a bit, actually,” responded Pete. “Turns out there’s an excellent chance that Stacey was adopted illegally. The state of Minnesota took her into custody, all right, but the social worker assigned to her case didn’t fill out the proper paperwork. There’s no paper trail to indicate what happened to her. It was discovered just two weeks ago, when a couple in St. Paul expressed interest in taking her in as a foster child, and no one could find her, though they ran across what appears to be a death certificate with her name on it, indicating she committed suicide in April of last year. As far as the state of Minnesota is concerned, Anastasia Katherine Rick is dead.”
“What the heck…?” Now MacGyver was really startled. “This just keeps getting more and more bizarre.”
“No kidding. And I haven’t even told you about Stacey’s parents yet.”
“So spill it already, Pete. What happened there?”
He sighed. “Turns out Stacey’s hunch was entirely correct. All three deaths, her mother’s, her father’s, and her uncle’s, were never investigated properly. The death certificates for her mom and uncle were made up and signed rather hastily. Here’s what’s really weird.” He pushed two pieces of paper across his desk so Mac could see them. “Stacey’s mom and uncle were rushed to the hospital after their car exploded on Highway 394, just east of downtown Minneapolis. The hospital records indicate that her mom was pronounced dead at 12:04 AM on Monday, March 15, 2002. But the death certificate indicates time of death as 10:01 PM on Sunday, March 14.” He looked baffled. “Her uncle’s death certificate is similar. According to the hospital records, he was pronounced dead at 1:26 AM on March 15. But the certificate indicates time of death as 9:48 PM March 14.”
“What about her dad?” Mac’s mind was spinning.
“That’s another weird thing. I can’t find a death certificate for her dad at all.”
“No death certificate? Isn’t that illegal?”
“Very. I asked the folks at the county courthouse to look again, and they called me back after searching for almost six hours. Nothing.”
“Could it be in another county, or another building, maybe?”
“No way. Death certificates, like birth certificates, are kept at the courthouse of the county in which the death took place. According to Stacey, her dad died at Hennepin County Medical Center in Minneapolis. So the certificate should be at the Hennepin County Government Center. But it’s not. Even if Stacey is wrong,” he added, anticipating MacGyver’s next question, “and he died at another hospital in Hennepin County, his death certificate would still be at the county courthouse.”
“What about HCMC? Wouldn’t they have the hospital records, at least?”
“Rather too conveniently, those are missing, as well.”
“So we have two falsified death certificates, one that’s missing, and one for a person who is still very much alive. Missing hospital records, too.” Mac now felt as baffled as his friend looked.
“That about sums it up.”
“What about the police report from the car accident? Were you able to find that, at least?”
“Yeah, I did, but its pretty bare-bones. Just indicates that the car exploded. No evidence of a real investigation.”
MacGyver was liking this less and less, and he didn’t like the queasy feeling in his stomach that was getting stronger with every passing minute. “Pete,” he said quietly, “someone’s hiding something. Stacey did say that the sheriff in the town where the WAPLA compound is located is good friends with her stepfather. Could we be looking at some kind of conspiracy here?”
Pete looked doubtful. “Conspiracy? To do what? It doesn’t make sense, Mac.”
“We should talk to Stacey again, Pete. Let’s find out if any strangers were hanging around in the days before her family members were killed. Anyone who maybe tried to ingratiate himself or herself with the family, out of the blue. Maybe they were trying to recruit Stacey for WAPLA, for whatever reason, and she and her parents turned them down.”
“So they killed her family just to get their hands on her? Why?”
“I don’t know yet, Pete. There’s still a big piece of the puzzle missing. But we’ve got to find out, and soon. The future of the Phoenix Foundation and the lives of thousands of people of color may depend on the answer.” His expression was grim. “Not to mention the life of a young woman who lost her family, then found herself tangled up with the last people in the world she wanted to be involved with.”
“Maybe there was money involved? An inheritance or something?” Pete looked thoughtful. “What did Stacey’s parents do for a living?”
“She told me her mom was an attorney. Her dad was a software developer, and was on the social justice committee at their church.”
“What kind of law did Stacey’s mom practice? If she was a civil rights lawyer, that could explain why she was targeted.”
“I’ll have to check on that. Her uncle… I don’t know. Could be that he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“See what you can find out from Stacey. I’ll keep looking for more on this, too, but I just may have hit a dead end.”

“Yeah, Mom was a civil-rights attorney. She could have made far better money as a personal-injury or corporate lawyer, but civil-rights law was her passion. She was a Freedom Rider in the ‘60’s, was at the March on Washington… one of those people who was a real eyewitness to history, not to mention one of those who helped to make it.” Stacey smiled proudly, in spite of the tears running down her face.
“What about your dad? You said he was also involved in social justice work?” Mac slipped his arm around her shoulders.
“Yes, Dad was leading a project at church looking into workers’ rights violations by employers. That was their most recent project, but by no means the only one. They were also involved in outreach work with the poor and homeless, and gay-rights projects, too. Dad always said that a person’s Christian faith was hollow if they didn’t take some kind of stand for the poor and outcast in society.”
Mac smiled. “Sounds like your dad had his head on straight and his heart in the right place.”
“He sure did. So did Mom. She got a lot of threats for her work, but she wasn’t intimidated. She just kept it up.”
“Stacey, what was your mom doing when she died? Was she working on anything particularly controversial?”
“I don’t really know. She wouldn’t say much, other than that it was an extremely important case, and might make history in the state of Minnesota. I have a funny hunch, though, that it had something to do with gay rights.”
“What makes you say that?”
“We were getting nasty, anonymous phone calls, and anonymous threats in the mail. She and Dad tried to hide them from me, but I saw one that called Mom a ‘fag lover.’ You know, like ‘nigger lover’ forty years ago.”
Mac winced. It was hard to believe that hate like this still existed. We’ve come so far as a society, and yet not very far at all, he thought.
“And your uncle? What did he do for a living?”
“Uncle Charlie was a carpenter. He worked on houses during the summer, and in the winter, built custom furniture in a workshop in his basement. He had nothing to do with Mom’s work.”
“Maybe he was just unlucky. Were there any strangers hanging around in the weeks or months before your parents died? Or anyone who just moved into the neighborhood, and was trying to get close to your family in a hurry?”
She sighed shakily. “Not that I noticed. But I was sort of the stereotypical self-involved teenager, you know? I’ll think about it, though, and let you know if I come up with anything.”
“Great. I know this isn’t easy for you, Stacey, but I have to ask these questions.”
“I know, Mac. I’ll do whatever I can to help, you know that.”
“I know you will. How are you feeling, by the way?”
“Still feel like I’ve been hit by the proverbial truck, but better than I was two days ago.” She smiled. “I noticed today that my black eyes are starting to look a little better.”
“Yes, they are. Are you getting any of your energy back yet?”
“A little. At least I can walk to the kitchen without feeling like I’m going to pass out.”
“Well, that’s an improvement. You just concentrate on getting better, Stacey, and let me and Pete worry about the case. When you’re recovered, you may be able to help more, but we’ll see. We don’t want to put you in more danger than you already are.”
She smiled, and hugged him. “I’m so glad I have you and Pete in my corner, Mac.”
Now it was MacGyver’s turn to blink away the tears.

“Hey, Dad. How’s Stacey?” Sam was waiting for Mac outside the houseboat.
“Recovering, but very slowly and painfully,” answered MacGyver. “We think we might have a lead on her parents’ deaths, and possibly some good information on WAPLA, too.”
“Good,” he answered. “You ready to go?”
“Yeah, just let me grab a few things from inside.” Mac unlocked the door and disappeared into the houseboat.
“Hey, Sam.” Mac’s voice carried an odd tone.
“What is it, Dad?” Sam stepped inside.
“Was the boat locked when you got here?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t try to go inside. I knew you’d probably be along soon, and it was such a nice day, I decided to wait out here. Why?” Sam looked puzzled.
“Take a look.” Mac held out a few Polaroid photos. “I found these taped to the wall just inside the door.” They were of him on his houseboat, taken the day he had moved Stacey to the safehouse. There were also a few of him and Sam together, after he had returned.
“Dad, this doesn’t look good. Please be careful.”
Mac hugged Sam close He wasn’t sure what to do now. He sure as hell was not going to be scared off the case. But how could he protect Sam?
“Dad.” Sam looked up at him. “I’d nearly forgotten. The day I arrived, just before you got here, I saw a car I didn’t recognize, a black Ford or Chevy, I think. It was driving around slowly, like the driver was looking for someone or something. It struck me as weird somehow, but I forgot to mention it to you. I’m sorry. Do you think there might be a connection?”
“I don’t know, Sam. Let’s go. We can talk about this on the way.” They climbed into his truck and headed for the park.

“A black Ford or Chevy, huh? Did you notice the plate?” Mac kept his voice calm, but his heart was pounding. He was puzzled, and, though he hated to admit it, terrified.
“I caught the number, but not the state. Here it is.” Sam dug a scrap of paper out of his pocket. “ATY 582.”
Mac shook his head. “That’s not a car that belongs to anyone in the marina. I know pretty much everyone here, and their cars. We better let Pete know right away.”
“Why not the police? Dad, I really think we ought to go to the police with this, before these people do something… like try to kill you,” Sam said seriously.
Mac sighed. “Don’t forget, Sam, Stacey is running not only from WAPLA, but from the police as well. If they find her, back she goes to her stepparents, and she probably won’t last long.” He looked at her. “And I mean that literally.”
“I agree,” said Sam. “The question is, what now?”
“I asked Stacey what she thought,” said Mac, “and she says this is fairly classic intimidation tactics. She doesn’t know, though, what the militia might try next. She was never in on exact plans for revenge, murders, and the like.” He looked at Sam for a moment. “I want you to be very careful, until this thing has been resolved. In fact, it may not be a bad idea for you to leave town. I don’t think these hit men know about you yet, but they will if you hang around. Much as I love having you here, I don’t want you in this kind of danger.” He pulled into the park, and found a space for the car. The two of them got out, and started for the walking trails.
“A friend of mine has a cabin up in Oregon, about half an hour outside Portland. I’ll see if I can get an assignment up that way for awhile.”
“I really hate the idea of you being that far away, especially since I found you less than a year ago,” MacGyver admitted. “But I just can’t take the chance of losing you, so soon after I found you. You’re the only family I have.”
Sam reached out to embrace his father, as they both cried, afraid for themselves, each other, and the young woman they had just met.