After somewhat of a delay due to real life (as usual ), here is part four. Happy reading!

Waking the Dead Part Four
Rated: R

“No way, MacGyver! There is absolutely no way I’m going to plan something so elaborate!” Pete shouted.

They were sitting inside the safe house Pete arranged for MacGyver, a bland one-story conventional suburban home with white walls and even whiter furniture.

“Pete, how many days has it been since I was poisoned?” MacGyver asked, his voice restored to its full strength.

Pete remembered clearly how many days it had been, still affected by finding him dead and the shock of seeing him alive again. It was stamped on his memory, something he wouldn’t easily forget for a long time. Occasionally, he had disturbing nightmares about it.

“Seven,” he said, sighing.

“And I was discharged from the hospital yesterday. If we’re going to do this, we have to do it now or soon it will be too late and whoever did this to me will grow suspicious.”

“Well, what makes you think this person wanted you dead? Maybe he just wanted to frighten or warn you, and that’s why the poison’s effects were temporary.”

MacGyver shook his head. “Why would anyone resort to something so drastic just to warn me?” He asked. “He knew where I would end up in that state. He wanted me to suffer, and then he wanted me to die.”

“Then why did the poison wear off?”

“You heard Dr. Carr. We’re dealing with an experimental drug, here. Obviously whoever did this didn’t get the dosage right.”

“Thank God for that.”

MacGyver looked at Pete and smiled slightly. “The point is, this guy expects results, and I intend to give them to him by planning a bogus funeral—to create a front, lure him in, deceive him into believing he’s succeeded in executing his mission,” he said.

“And you think he’ll be watching?”

“Why would he go through all this trouble if he wasn’t? He can’t resist it. He wants to witness every stage of my death, wants to know that I really am gone. He’s desperate. His desperation will undo him. That’s why I say, you stage a funeral, and you’ll catch him.” MacGyver looked at Pete and noticed how distressed he looked, pain and sadness in his eyes. “Pete, it’s going to work,” he said.

“How could I possibly tell people you’re dead and to attend your funeral when it’s all pretend? I couldn’t bear to manipulate emotions that way. Do you know what it did to me whenI believed you were dead?”

“I know, Pete. I also know that if you explain it to them the right way, they’ll understand and go along with it. They’re my friends.”

“How am I supposed to explain it when it still confuses me? I mean, what you just experienced doesn’t happen everyday.”

MacGyver smirked. “No, I guess that’s true,” he said, “but you’ll think of something. I trust you. All I know is, I can’t spend my life in hiding when there’s a chance we can get this guy. What do you say?”

Pete smiled and shook his head. “You always could convince me to believe in you,” he said. “All right, I’ll get started. I’ll think of something.”

***

MacGyver was impressed. What Pete had undertaken was ambitious, yet the results of his efforts proved successful. He had managed to persuade everyone who knew him to attend the fictitious funeral by assuring them that MacGyver was fine but in danger and needed their assistance. After hearing this, none of them were hesitant to participate, although they asked many questions which Pete had to artfully conceive answers to without revealing the more unusual details of what was already a strange and unprecedented favor to ask of someone. Convincing the cemetery to allow usage of their property proved to be more challenging, but Pete managed to secure a burial plot, his clout in the DXS still amounting to something. The organization had after all staged funerals before in many countries around the world. MacGyver knew this, which was how he got the idea. He wished he could take sole credit for the clever ruse, but he knew it had been done before—and could be done.

The setting seemed realistic enough—nothing overdone. Like a well-acted and well-directed stage play, it was orchestrated beautifully. The ground actually had a hole dug in it, an empty casket beside it, ready to be lowered. Despite having no direct religious or spiritual affiliations, a priest was on hand, ready to perform the ceremony. Pete had arranged for a headstone to be carved, featuring MacGyver’s name and the years he was alive. Jack Dalton for once suppressed his urge to be a ham, acting along with Pete as one of the pallbearers with just the right amount of sadness and sober reflection. Everyone attending played their parts well, looking somber. Penny Parker, ever the actress, put on her best mournful expression, even shedding a few tears and dabbing them with a black handkerchief.

As MacGyver watched the scene from his unmarked van, wired with surveillance equipment, he couldn’t have been more in awe. The ceremony was morbid yet poignant, stirring all kinds of mixed feelings in him. He was flattered and somewhat surprised that so many people would attend his funeral, grateful for so many caring friends. Yet, he also felt a sense of unease, as if he were watching something he should never be able to see, a voyeur of his own death. The experience, much like everything else he had been through in the past week, was eerie and surreal. Once he overcame the initial shock of seeing his own funeral, no matter how imaginary it was, he knew he didn’t have time to listen to eulogies although he was curious about what everyone who knew him well would say. He had a killer to catch.

“Testing,” MacGyver said into his tiny microphone. “Testing…Pete, can you hear me?”

Glancing around cautiously, wearing sunglasses and a dark suit and looking very much like a veteran Secret Service agent, Pete spoke quietly in his microphone.

“Yeah, I can hear you,” he said.

“Good. Be on the lookout for any stragglers hanging around near the trees. This guy wants to enjoy his show, but he also doesn’t want to be noticed.” MacGyver peered through his binoculars, also looking.

“Are you sure he’s going to be here?”

“Where else would he be? Pete, this is our perfect opportunity. You and your men keep searching, but don’t make it obvious.”

“Right.”

Pete and his team, set up to look like they were providing security for the funeral, scanned the cemetery looking for signs of anyone suspicious. It should have been easy to spot someone in a cemetery, but it was proving to be difficult, the large trees surrounding it creating too much cover.

“I don’t see anyone so far,” Pete said.

“Keep looking,” MacGyver said. “He’s here. I know it.”

***

The man lurking in the distant fringes of the cemetery was pleased. The culmination of everything he had planned with such precision was finally playing out before him. MacGyver was officially dead. There would be no more doubts or near-misses or miscalculations. He was gone. For once, he had been unable to save himself, the poison too powerful and unstoppable an adversary. He imagined with relish how much agony MacGyver endured before death, his mind remaining active while his body left him paralyzed and helpless. He knew that Pete had ordered an autopsy to be performed, not willing to accept his death easily. They would never find anything conclusive in their investigation, but MacGyver would have been tortured mercilessly without their knowledge as they cut him open, removing and examining his organs that were still essential to securing his life, even if they appeared nonfunctional. It was a brilliant disguise of death, one that had easily fooled everyone except the man trapped in his hell. He smiled as he pretended to listen to MacGyver’s tormented howls, screams, and pleas inside his mind. He couldn’t think of a more perfect death for his enemy. It was what he deserved. He only wished he could have been present to witness the dissection. There may not have been an underworld of eternal damnation, but he had successfully created one.

Watching the funeral, he also began to wonder if he would become dissatisfied or depressed now that his plan had come to fruition. No longer would he have an enemy—one he considered a major annoyance—to toy with, finding that even though he despised MacGyver, he enjoyed creating complicated games designed to ensnare him, admiring how his brain functioned. Now, he would no longer be a source of amusement. He had to remind himself that while cruelly teasing MacGyver had been pleasurable, he was merely a delightful activity that distracted him from more serious business. If he was ever going to be taken seriously again, MacGyver, the source of all his fun—would have to be eliminated. In some ways, it was as difficult as letting go of an addiction, but he found that finally killing MacGyver had also been cathartic.

He knew MacGyver would’ve been honored to see how many people were attending his funeral. It was a pity he would never know. Most of them were pathetic, weak, and insufferable human garbage like his friend Dalton, people he could easily dispose of without moral compunction if he had to. MacGyver was different. He wanted to save this wretched refuse. Struggling to understand why someone with so many intellectual gifts would waste his time on so many useless people, he began to wonder if he felt jealous. Nobody would care if he died. In fact, most people wanted him to die. They feared him, and while he found power by controlling them with their fear, he also at times felt…lonely? No, that was impossible. He didn’t need or want worthless dregs depending on him. Yet how was it MacGyver’s work drew so much more attention than his? He couldn’t see the difference between them, the line dividing good and evil blurred and almost nonexistent to him. He worked alone, but he also wanted recognition for his genius. Perhaps with the death of MacGyver by these new, innovative methods, he would for once be celebrated in his field as a master.

As he continued surveying the funeral, something felt wrong. It seemed a little too perfect, a little too choreographed. The level of grief on display seemed accurate, but not fully genuine, as if contrived for an audience. He tried to tell himself that what he sensed wasn’t true, that maybe a part of him was wishing the funeral to be false so that he could have one more chance of harming MacGyver. Another part of him wondered if he had trouble accepting his victory, allowing himself to be a catastrophist and create a worst case scenario that didn’t exist. His intuition was strong, however, refusing to let go of the suspicions he had. His eyes shifted from the melancholy gathering to the line of black cars that formed the funeral procession. One of them appeared to be out of place even though someone had done a thorough job of trying to incorporate it into the train of vehicles. It was an unassuming black van, but he knew its true purpose. He had been set up! Somehow, against all odds, MacGyver had survived again, but how? Infuriated, clenching his hands into fists and grinding his teeth, he began to stalk away, his rage fueling his motivation to create a new plan, one that this time would not fail him.

***

MacGyver caught movement out of the corner of his binoculars. “Pete, I see something,” he said into his microphone.

“Where?”

“The far northwest corner of the cemetery. Something is moving.”

Pete shifted his eyes in the direction MacGyver referred to, noticing a figure in the distance walking away from the funeral.

“Yeah, I see it. Could this be our guy?”

“There’s only one way to find out. I want you and your men to approach him, but slowly.”

“Right, got it.”

Pete signaled to his team, and they followed him, moving towards their target with stealth and ease, trying not to attract too much attention, remaining at a distance until they could strike. MacGyver watched them, wishing he could be involved in the middle of the action instead of sequestered inside the van. He waited as patiently as he could, wondering about the identity of their suspect. Several potential candidates came to his mind, but he dismissed most of them, not believing that any he had encountered had the capability to produce such a highly sophisticated and complex toxin. They were dealing with someone new, venturing into foreign territory. Whoever this person was, he had a new and dangerous weapon, and they had to stop him before he used it on someone else. The man they were chasing knew he was being followed, and he picked up his pace, darting into the dense thicket of trees that bordered the cemetery.

“Stop!” Pete shouted, he and his men also speeding up, running after him. One of his men fired his gun in the air as a warning shot.

MacGyver heard the blast and the resulting commotion reverberate through his microphone. “Pete, what’s going on?” He asked, for a moment losing sight of them.

“He’s disappearing into the woods!” Pete shouted back.

“Don’t lose him!”

“Spread out! He could be anywhere!” Pete shouted to his men.

They fanned out, burrowing deeper into the forest, tangles of branches smacking against them. The further they went, the darker it became, the canopy of broad leaves obscuring the sun and thick twines of tree roots and brambles protruding from the ground and making it difficult to maneuver, creating too many obstacles.

“Do you see him?” Pete asked his men on his radio, stumbling over the overgrown undergrowth.

“No sir, there’s no sign of him,” one of them said.

“Damn! Mac, he’s retreated into the woods pretty far,” he said into his microphone. “There’s enough coverage from the foliage here that he could be hiding anywhere.”

MacGyver sighed and buried his face in his hands. “Keep looking,” he said, his voice flat and dull. He knew they wouldn’t find him. Like a phantom haunting the cemetery, he had vanished.

To be continued…

This story is soooo GOOD!!!!! can't wait to read the rest!

Who could this enemy be, this egotistical and intelligent assailant, this sociopathic nemesis who hates our Mac so much...???

I have my suspicions!

Me too...



Terrific story so far!