I know...it's been a long time coming, but here is the next installment!
Shake Hands with the Devil Part Seven
Rated: R
The Present…
The phone rang in MacGyver’s house boat. Since MacGyver was asleep, hopefully for once free of nightmares, Pete took the initiative to answer it.
“Your government is planning on detaining El Diablo tonight,” Enrique said.
“So soon? It’s only been twenty-four hours since you released your report,” Pete said. “As much as I want to see him in custody, are you sure we have consent from other governments to do this? We can’t afford to create an incident here.”
“We have permission,” Enrique said. “We have the tacit approval of several world governments. The evidence I helped compile against him is indisputable. They recognize that if we do not act with the utmost expediency, he will return to my country where he will start a war if we try to apprehend him there. He plans to leave this country tonight. We plan to prevent his departure from ever occurring.”
“When is this all going to happen?” Pete asked.
“In one hour. I could use your assistance, and MacGyver’s as well…that is, if he can bear facing his torturer again.”
“I’ll be there. I’m not so sure about MacGyver. That decision will be up to him.”
“I understand. I will meet you at the hotel where El Diablo is staying.”
“All right. In one hour?”
“One hour, yes.”
When their conversation was finished, Pete hung up the phone, the receiver feeling heavy in his hands. In the span of one hour, he knew many lives would be changed—MacGyver’s, the people of Enrique’s country, and El Diablo himself. As he stood there considering the gravity of the situation, a loud moan erupting from MacGyver’s bedroom interrupted his thoughts. He knew it was another nightmare, but the urgency of tending to him when he experienced them never lessened. Running up the stairs, he found that MacGyver had managed to entangle himself in his sheets. He struggled to free himself violently, remembering and reliving with disturbing clarity his confinement in the chains, coiling around him like a constrictor.
“It’s all right, Mac, I’m here,” he said quietly. “I’m going to help you out of this.”
MacGyver moaned and squirmed again, only managing to wrap the sheets around him even tighter. His desperation showed on his face, beaded with sweat and creased in panic, his eyes darting wildly beneath his eyelids, showing how deeply he was dreaming, his head moving from side to side, his thrashing around increasing. Pete studied carefully how the sheets were entwined around MacGyver’s body, trying to figure out the best way to loosen them. After several minutes, still unsure and hating to watch his friend suffer helplessly any longer, he gave them several firm tugs in different directions until they began to slacken, even managing to pull MacGyver’s body along with them. Once liberated, MacGyver’s limbs flailed. Pete tried to dodge him, but MacGyver’s fist managed to connect with his face anyway, smacking hard against his nose.
“Ah!” Pete shouted in surprise at the sudden, stinging pain, recoiling from the impact and holding his nose, feeling warm, sticky blood flowing from it.
MacGyver’s jerky, uncontrollable movements sent him closer to the edge of the bed. Soon, he fell off of it, Pete still too stunned by the accidental blow to his nose to stop him. The sudden fall jolted MacGyver awake, and he looked around his bedroom, bewildered and gasping in fear. Forgetting about his own discomfort, Pete rushed to him to comfort him, grabbing him by his trembling shoulders.
“It’s all right, you’re safe,” he said. “Look at me! You’re in your bedroom. It’s okay.”
“Pete?” MacGyver asked, his voice and his eyes filled with confusion, groping for his hand.
“Yes Mac, it’s me,” Pete said, taking his hand and gently squeezing it.
MacGyver noticed the blood on Pete’s nose. “What…what happened? What’s going on?” He asked.
“Just relax, MacGyver. You had another nightmare.”
“Your nose…”
“Oh, that,” Pete said, wiping the trickles of blood away. “You were trapped in your sheets, wrapped up like a mummy. I pulled them free from you, and once I did, you started kicking and punching in the air, and your fist happened to make contact with my nose.”
“Oh God, Pete,” MacGyver said, staring at the blood. “I’m so sorry…”
“You have nothing to be sorry about. It was an accident. You were dreaming. You didn’t know I was right there.”
“I hurt you…”
“I’m fine. It’s just a little nosebleed, that’s all. You didn’t break it or anything.”
MacGyver looked around his bedroom, still a little dazed and uncertain about his surroundings. “How did I end up on the floor?” He asked.
“You fell out of bed from moving around so much,” Pete said. “I tried to stop you, but I’m sorry to say my nose preoccupied me for a moment too long.”
Surprisingly, MacGyver broke out into a smile, laughing. “That must’ve been quite a scene,” he said, falling into Pete’s arms in a relieved embrace.
Pete laughed as well, glad to for once see his friend smiling again, seeing the humor of it, his body quaking not from sobs this time but from laughter. “I guess it was,” he said. He momentarily forgot about Enrique’s call and the seriousness of the situation that was about to occur, now less than an hour away. Releasing MacGyver, he looked at him. “Listen Mac, something is about to happen that I think you should know about.”
“They’re going to arrest Carlos,” MacGyver said.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“In less than an hour, at his hotel. Enrique wants me to be involved. He asked for you as well, but I told him…given the circumstances of your torture at the hands of that man…”
“I want to go, Pete,” MacGyver said, his voice firm, strength in his dark eyes.
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve never been surer about anything. I want to see him face justice—not just for what he did to me, but what he did to all the other innocent victims over the years of Velazquez’s regime.”
“You know what happened to you the last time you saw him at the banquet—your body locked up and completely froze. You could barely function.”
“I know, Pete.”
“I just want you to be okay.”
MacGyver managed another smile. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “I need to be there. I can’t miss it. It’s too important to me to see him caught. Once I know he’s gone, maybe there’s a chance I can finally recover—from everything.”
Pete nodded, knowing he was right. He needed the cathartic release of closure before both his physical and emotional wounds could at last be fully healed after several long years of waiting in despair and hopelessness. He needed a life once again uninterrupted by nightmares and flashbacks. Most of all, he needed to know he was truly free and safe again, not being haunted repeatedly by the knowledge that El Diablo was still walking around freely, inflicting more damage on his already fragile, broken spirit.
***
“I must say this is the most sophisticated sting operation I’ve ever seen,” Pete said, looking around the expansive, luxurious hotel lobby.
Designed for catering to the demands and aesthetics of the elite and heads of state, the atrium looked more like a live rainforest, dense, lush foliage covering every area, surrounding a gushing, resplendent fountain that glistened like diamonds beneath the lights. Pete smiled to himself, satisfied with the knowledge that soon El Diablo would be removed from this opulent palace for wealth and privilege, reduced to the humble and barren walls of a prison cell, more befitting for a man of such savagery.
“We have evacuated the hotel, informing all employees and guests except for our target,” Enrique said. “We invented some clever and convenient excuse—it does not matter what it was—a gas leak or something of that nature. It’s all disinformation.” He smiled.
“So, all the people I see around here dressed like tourists and employees…”
“They all work for us. When Carlos enters the lobby, he will suspect nothing. That is when we grab him.”
“You expect him to be coming down soon?”
“He will be leaving with his entourage for his flight out of the country at any moment.”
Both men looked at MacGyver, who was examining the hotel lobby, also impressed with the elaborate ruse. He didn’t think there would be any conceivable means for El Diablo’s escape. This time, he would be the captive, although his treatment while imprisoned would be far more humane and merciful than anything he had subjected his numerous unfortunate victims to over many years, unpunished for his crimes until now.
“MacGyver, perhaps we should move back and out of the way,” Pete said.
Before MacGyver could even consider Pete’s suggestion, Carlos and his retinue entered the lobby. His eyes locked on MacGyver’s, and there was instant recognition between them. He knew the reason for his presence there. He knew he had been lured into an ambush. Signaling to his men, they pulled out their weapons and opened fire, spraying bullets around the lobby.
“Take cover!” Pete shouted amidst the loud, concussive barrage of gunfire.
Enrique was struck in the leg, falling with a painful groan. The other agents scrambled for defensive positions behind the plants in the atrium as bullets whizzed by them. They drew their own weapons but were hesitant to return fire, wanting to take El Diablo alive. Lost in the chaos, still staring at Carlos in a state of shock, MacGyver remained motionless, almost catatonic, unconcerned about the possibility of getting hit with a bullet, his focus on Carlos all-consuming, drowning out the gunfight that ensued around him. Exposure to those lifeless, cold eyes had once again rendered him powerless with overwhelming fear, his body trembling with adrenaline, his pulse and breath quickening. Noticing his reaction, grinning maliciously, Carlos decided to use it to his advantage. Signaling for his men to stop shooting but to keep their weapons aimed at the other men in the lobby, he grabbed MacGyver, wrapping his arm around him and pulling out his knife, taking him hostage.
“MacGyver!” Pete shouted.
Wrapped in El Diablo’s massive, bulky, and muscular arms, MacGyver, a tall man himself, looked puny and defenseless in comparison, his enemy towering over him. Even though he had lost weight, he was still a powerfully built man. Alejandro Velazquez had chosen him for his burly physique, knowing that combined with his natural instinct for cruelty, he would be the perfect enforcer. MacGyver’s eyes were wide with terror, and he was completely paralyzed, gasping and trembling in panic, unable to do anything, his fear dominating him. Pete watched him helplessly in deep sympathy, wishing his friend didn’t have to suffer in the hands of that madman yet again.
“Es un placer verte de nuevo, perro. (It is a pleasure to see you again, dog),” El Diablo hissed, thinking about lopping MacGyver’s ear off, playing with it with the tip of his knife, but he didn’t. He understood the art and technique of torture, knowing that it was always more effective to demonstrate what he could do in order to convince his helpless victim that he would do it without a moment’s notice if he so chose, leaving them with uncertainty and increasing their fear of him. MacGyver’s body grew more rigid in his arms, and he smiled. “I wasn’t quite finished with you last time, you know. You thought you had escaped me all those years ago, but you haven’t. I still own you. Your fear of me controls you.” He yanked his head back, grabbing a fistful of his hair, pressing the sharp blade of his knife against his throat, cutting into the skin and drawing blood. “If you attempt to send me to hell, I am going to drag him down with me!” He screamed.
Silence filled the lobby as the agents considered their next move. The reverberations of gunshots still rang in the air, along with the acrid odor of burnt gunpowder, smoke from spent shells lingering in the air.
“Please,” Pete said, struggling with his emotions, doing his best to be diplomatic with a maniac that would never listen to reason. “Let him go. We’ll work something out, just…don’t hurt him.”
El Diablo laughed. “You are too late for that, I’m afraid,” he said. “I’ve already hurt him, many times, and I enjoyed every moment of it.” He pressed the knife harder against MacGyver’s throat, and MacGyver shuddered in response, whimpering and closing his eyes. “Unless you allow me to return to my country, I will slice him open like a pig for slaughter!”
The agents assembled in the lobby, positioned in various locations, knew he meant what he said, having no moral compunction or qualms about his violent actions for years. There was no reason he would begin to form a conscience or have reservations about killing someone now, not when he was surrounded and desperate. As the tense standoff continued, time became fragmented to MacGyver, making it difficult for him to distinguish between the past and the present, finding El Diablo wherever he went, unable to escape him, his omnipresence making him a permanent fixture in his life. He fought to conquer his incapacitating fear, his mind racing, remembering the words of his psychiatrist, using them as a mantra.
Don’t let him win. Don’t let him beat you into submission again. Don’t let him take away your autonomy and dignity. Don’t let him succeed in using your fear to control you. You have to stop him…you have to stop him…you have to stop him… A cry welled up in his throat, the rage and defiance about his maltreatment that had been buried for so long surfacing, no longer able to be contained.
“Do what you have to, Pete!” He shouted, his voice echoing through the lobby.
Stunned, believing he had complete control over his hostage, El Diablo was distracted by his shout long enough for a sharpshooter hiding behind one of the broad-leaved plants in the atrium to take precise aim at his leg, firing at him. When the bullet struck him, he released a surprised, painful grunt and fell to the floor, blood pooling around him. Concerned over their fallen leader, members of his security team lost concentration long enough for several of the agents, who had been hiding in strategic positions around the atrium since the first shots were fired, to emerge, pointing their weapons at them, swarming around them to disarm them.
“Drop your weapons, now!” Several of them shouted, grabbing the men and handcuffing them. Still shocked and bleeding, El Diablo, their main target, was also handcuffed, surrounded by heavily armed agents to ensure he would not attempt an escape despite his wounded condition.
As the situation began to be contained, Pete rushed over to Enrique’s side, checking on his own bullet wound.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes,” Enrique said, wincing and gritting his teeth, applying pressure to his bloodied leg. “I am fine. Don’t concern yourself with me. It’s MacGyver you should worry about.”
Both men turned to look at MacGyver, who remained standing mutely near the spot where El Diablo had at last fallen and had been defeated. Everything had happened so quickly that he barely had time for it to register in his mind, at first not believing it was over, that it couldn’t possibly be, that El Diablo wasn’t finished destroying him yet. Gradually, as it began to occur to him that El Diablo was no longer a threat, that he never would be again, he became overcome with exhaustion, his emotional reserves spent. He began to sway where he stood, not able to remain standing solidly, his legs quivering and becoming weak. Swooning, he fainted, collapsing to the floor.
To be continued…
"If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer."
--Henry David Thoreau
brains+brawn+beauty+personality=MacGyver
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeek!!!
Poor Pete, who ever thought that babysitting could be painful (ouch, a hit in the nose gotta hurt like hell!). He's such a nice papa 
I was almost worried I had rushed this part too much (ironically, that's part of what took me so long to post it). 
Thanks again for your help with Spanish, by the way. I almost forgot to credit you again! 
