AftershocksThirteen: Photorealism
There’s a big difference between ‘dumb’ and ‘naïve’. Dexter isn’t dumb – just the opposite – but he’s naïve. When I returned the call, ‘Smith’ offered me fifty thousand dollars to wipe the files – everything from Frau Brandenburg’s files, and everything we had on the art collection – from the Phoenix computers. Then he upped it to a hundred thousand if I could promise it would be done that same night.
I said yes, of course. And since Dexter’s naïve, I didn’t try to put Smith on the spot by asking for payment details. I was pretty sure that he didn’t ever plan on paying up; but with the files destroyed, he’d have what he wanted, and he wasn’t about to worry over Dexter’s future. I did try to ask about the Professor, but I didn’t get anywhere.
Smith wasn’t naïve, but he was kinda dumb. He never mentioned destroying the backups as well, and he seemed to think that the files only existed in the computer.
Stephanie’s pretty naïve, too – at that age, it’s a tragedy for a kid to be anything else – but she’s not dumb either. She found an argument for every one of Pete’s objections to her going with Laura – and every one of Laura’s. She even pointed out that the fine print on the contract she’d signed with Phoenix took care of the legalities, and she’d already been over 18 the day she signed it. Anjali isn’t dumb or naïve in any way, and I could see her smirking over that one. Who’d’ve thought Stephanie would actually read the whole thing?
But she was naïve about the ‘Commando Pete’ cartoons – it really hadn’t occurred to her that every one of them had ended up on Pete’s desk. She turned bright scarlet when he mentioned them, and then got even more flustered when he told her how much he liked them.
It made me wonder about those teachers of hers. It isn’t just lawyers who need a sense of humour.It
was the same warehouse. Laura and Stephanie had been instructed to bring the paintings around by the loading dock entrance; and as Zak had said, it was easy enough to break in by the side door.
The loading dock was nearly empty, but the darkness itself provided some cover; MacGyver slipped in through the hallway door and stole softly over to where a forklift bulked in the shadows. At the far end, near the main doors, he could see the two women, pinned down in the glaring circle of light from a high-powered industrial-grade flashlight. Mac didn’t look directly at them – he needed to keep his eyes attuned to the darkness – but he saw well enough with his peripheral vision to make out the three parcels they were carrying, wrapped up neatly in brown paper and string, the size and bulk making them awkward to handle.
The man holding the flashlight was a tall, dim figure; the glow from the light caught at the fringes of a disordered shock of white hair. He was looking right at Laura and Stephanie. That’s pretty dumb, too – he won’t be able to see anything unless he’s shining the light right at it.
It was Rolf Schmidt; Mac could see enough of his face to be sure. Willis had found a photograph dating from his retirement in 1984, although Schmidt’s hair was whiter now and his face was craggier. One gnarled hand held the flashlight; the other held a .38 caliber revolver.
Laura was squinting into the light, holding up a hand to try to shield her eyes. “We’ve brought the paintings. Where’s Ruth Collins?”
“All in good time.” The voice, with its heavy German accent, was unmistakable: the same voice from the phone calls. “You will unwrap them. I must see that you are not trying to cheat me.”
Grumbling and complaint from Stephanie, softly shushed by Laura as they complied. Mac took advantage of the distraction to study his surroundings more closely. He froze in place where he was, hiding behind the tire of the fork lift.
Cody was crouched less than ten feet away from him, still oblivious.
MacGyver had chosen the side of the forklift for his cover; Cody was watching the scene from behind the end of the vehicle. If Mac had approached from a slightly different angle, he’d have practically tripped over the skinhead.
Even in the shadows, here behind where Schmidt stood with his flashlight, Mac could see the gun in Cody’s hand. He could also see three different ways to take the kid out . . . and he couldn’t use any of them.
Is he here on his own? Or playing rear guard for Schmidt? Cody was focused on the scene at the end of the loading dock, where Schmidt’s flashlight showed the two women unwrapping the paintings. With his military jacket and boots and the buzz-cut hair, Cody looked like an Army grunt on recon – except that any sentry who left his back that wide open would be fair game.
You’d think a kid that obsessed with playing soldier would have a clue about surveillance – and he’s looking right at the brightest-lit part of the room; so his night sight’s blown also. It was tempting to imagine slipping a few feet closer and taking the gun away.
Tag, you little twerp. Mac had had buddies in Vietnam who would have made a truly memorable object lesson out of this kind of opportunity.
And I have to stay here and just keep watch.Laura and Stephanie had finished their unwrapping. Mac could see Schmidt’s body language clearly enough in the backwash from the light: the old man had leaned forward as the paintings were uncovered, and then settled back on his heels, nodding with satisfaction, even though there was no way the women could have seen his expression with the light blinding them if they looked at him.
That’s why he’s doing it like this – he doesn’t want to be recognised. They oughta be safe as long as he doesn’t think anyone got a good look at him.Laura kept her gaze mostly on the paintings, but Stephanie was glancing nervously around, trying not to look into the light. The rest of the room must have been a solid mass of darkness to her, but Cody responded unconsciously as her unseeing gaze swept past his hiding place; he, too, glanced around uneasily. He frowned and looked again in MacGyver’s direction, peering forward intently, his eyes straining against the gloom.
Dang it!!When Cody came around the corner of the forklift, Mac was ready. Cody came gun-first, leading with his right hand; MacGyver grabbed his wrist and slammed the hand against the metal frame of the vehicle. Cody screeched with pain – although Mac was pretty sure he hadn’t actually broken any bones – and the gun went clattering off into the shadows.
So much for the hardware – but now I’ve got a cranky skinhead to deal with . . . and I have to let him win.Caught off guard, Cody was wide open; Mac had to resist the urge to nail him on his unprotected pugnacious jaw. Instead, he backhanded Cody across the face – painful, demeaning, but nothing that would end the fight or even tilt it in Mac’s favour.
Can’t make it too easy.He’d seen what Cody held in his other hand – a large, heavy, industrial-grade flashlight.
That’s gonna hurt . . .It did. Mac yelped when the first blow connected with the arms he’d thrown up to shield his face and head. Cody pummeled MacGyver wildly with the flashlight, his blows brutal but unscientific. Mac was grateful; an experienced fighter would have switched the bludgeon back to his dominant hand, bruised or not, and then backed Mac against the fork lift and done some real damage. Instead, the blows that rained down landed mostly on the arm and shoulder muscles: painful but not debilitating.
When Cody finally noticed Mac had left himself open to a gut punch, Mac rolled with the blow and let himself go down. He continued the roll to put a few extra feet between himself and Cody’s combat boots; he didn’t want to give the kid an opening for kicking. He lay still.
Cody switched the flashlight to his right hand, swore at the pain from his battered fingers, and pinned Mac’s prone form with the bright glare of the beam.
Schmidt’s voice echoed from the shadows, where Mac’s light-dazzled sight could no longer penetrate. “What has happened? Who is that?”
“
Mein Obersturmführer – it’s Dexter! Wait, no . . . ”
Huh. He didn’t call him ‘Professor’ – guess that settles it. Mac blinked up at Cody, now a dim silhouette behind the light. “The name’s MacGyver.” He pitched his voice low, well away from the tones of Dexter’s nasal whine. “How the heck do you know Dexter?”
He could see Cody peering at him. “You sure look a lot like him . . . ”
“He’s my cousin.” Mac sat up. “Unfortunately.” He looked over to where Laura and Stephanie were still standing; they had frozen in place when the scuffle broke out. “Stephanie, is this guy one of the skinheads you said were harassing you?”
The girl’s reply was a nervous squeak; she had to clear her throat and try again. “Um, yeah, I think so – I can’t really see his face. Are you all right, Mr. MacGyver?”
“So Dexter’s been gettin’ chummy with skinheads?” Mac raised his hand, trying to screen his eyes from the worst of the glare. “Man, I
told Pete we were wastin’ our time on him.”
Cody had retrieved his gun; now he brandished it, his eyes glittering with malice. “You get your ass over there with the women. So you’re from Phoenix too, huh?”
MacGyver looked carefully at Laura and Stephanie as he joined them; they both looked frightened but determined. He gave Stephanie a quick hug and then turned towards the shadowed figure of Schmidt, one arm around the shoulders of each woman. “What’re you gonna do with us?”
“We only need one person to help carry the paintings to the car. The girl will do.”
Laura took a half-step forward, her fists clenching. “No! You leave her out of this! You shouldn’t have involved her in the first place.”
“Relax, Dr. Sandburg.” Schmidt sounded amused. “I would never harm such a fine young Aryan girl. Once we have the paintings, she is free to go – she can even bring someone to come free you. Of course, it is a long walk to the nearest phone. You will have to be patient.”
“Free us?” Mac asked.
Keys jangled in Schmidt’s hand; he tossed them to Cody. “Lock them up in one of the offices. Make sure the man won’t cause any trouble – but no shooting. Do you hear me? Not unless they make it necessary.”
The office Cody took them to was small and cramped, the interior not fully finished; an exposed water pipe spanned the width of the narrow space overhead. Cody glanced at it, grinned mirthlessly, and pulled a set of handcuffs out of one pocket. He tossed them to MacGyver and indicated the pipe. Mac wondered briefly whether Laura would get the same treatment, but Cody simply ordered her into a corner of the office, keeping most of his attention fixed on Mac.
Mac seethed inwardly.
Guess he doesn’t think she’s a threat – did he get his macho crap along with the Nazi schtick, or pick it up on its own? He didn’t have to feign reluctance as he lifted his arms up over his head on each side of the pipe and snapped the cuffs on his own wrists, leaving the chain looped over the pipe.
Cody wasn’t entirely careless or clueless; as soon as he thought MacGyver was secure, he checked to make sure the cuffs were firmly latched. In the process, he left himself open to several possible counterattacks; Mac was especially tempted by the clear shot he had at planting a hard sidewinder kick in the young man’s gut. An alternate target, slightly lower, was even more tempting.
Instead, he braced for Cody’s next move, inevitable and predictable. Cody, in glee at having a supposedly helpless target, backhanded Mac viciously across the face. Mac rolled with the blow as best as he could, but it wasn’t much. He turned his head back and met the younger man’s eyes steadily, uncowed.
Cody seemed to flinch inwardly. He lifted the gun as if to club Mac with it; Mac sucked in his breath and braced himself again, his eyes burning harder into Cody’s. But Laura had had enough; she advanced on Cody, her eyes blazing, and seized his upraised arm.
“
Stop it! Leave him alone!”
MacGyver hadn’t seen her moving, or he would have called out to her not to intervene. Cody backhanded her in turn, knocking her against the desk. With that blow, he seemed to notice his bruised right hand; he yelped and massaged his knuckles, turning away from Mac to glare at Laura.
At that, Mac forgot all his good intentions of playing it cool. He didn’t even think about what he was doing as he locked the fingers of both hands together so that he was swinging from the pipe, and lashed out with both feet. One foot caught Cody in the small of the back, over the kidneys, and the other hit him solidly just under the shoulderblade on the right side. Mac knew he’d caught the right spot when Cody yelped again, louder, and stiffened up as if he’d been hit with an electrical jolt. The gun dropped from his hand, and Mac just managed to reach it with his foot, shuffle it like a soccer ball, and kick it out the door into the shadowed hallway.
“Laura – ” Mac jerked his head, indicating she should slip behind him; she ducked out of Cody’s reach and retreated into the corner behind where MacGyver hung from the pipe.
Mac met Cody’s eyes again, a hard feral stare. He was poised on tiptoe, his knees slightly flexed, steadying himself with his hands clasped above the pipe. He could see Cody’s mind working, realising how much of the tiny, cramped space Mac could reach with his next kick.
Cody’s eyes shifted towards the hallway, where the gun lay somewhere in the darkness.
In the breathless silence, they could hear Schmidt’s querulous voice.
“
Cody! What is taking you so long? Hurry up, you lazy dog.”
Cody’s jaw tightened; he glanced from the hallway back to MacGyver, and their eyes locked once more.
Ever seen what happens to dogs when they tangle with a wolf? Mostly wolves have more sense . . . they know how to let go of a fight. But show any weakness to a wild dog, and you’re fresh meat.Mac held the eye contact as Cody stepped back towards the doorway, well out of range of Mac’s long legs. He held his breath to see if Cody was going to fetch the gun and come back; but the parting shot was delivered with a smirk instead.
“That dweeby cousin of yours? Dexter? You’re right, a*shole. You
have been wasting your time.”
The click of the door locking was followed by the thump of Cody’s bootsteps retreating down the hallway. Mac let out an exasperated sigh and dropped back to his feet, letting his shoulders sag as much as he could.
“I’m gettin’
real tired of lettin’ that kid win.”
Laura stared at him in astonishment. “ ‘
Letting’ him . . . ?”
“Well, yeah.” Mac looked up at his cuffed hands and flexed his fingers, wincing slightly. The metal cuffs had dug into his wrists when he’d swung from the pipe. “Just between you and me, I’ve had it.” He looked at her with concern. “You okay?”
She shook her head in bewilderment. “
Mac . . . am
I okay?!?”
“Well, are you?”
Laura drew a deep, slow breath. “Uh – yes. I think I am. I’m not scared any more. I’m furious.” She touched her bruised cheek with careful fingers. “I don’t know why, but it’s an improvement.”
“Good,” Mac said cheerfully. “Now let’s get outta here, okay?”
Laura gave him a meaningful look. He grinned back at her. “My knife’s in my right-hand pocket. Do me a favour and get it out for me, willya?”
She reached up on tiptoe to place it in his hand and watched with fascination as he located the reamer blade by touch, opened it, and set to work on the locks. “What if I hadn’t been in here to help?”
“This pipe’s pretty strong as far as it goes,” Mac replied absently, “but it wasn’t designed to hold up against heavy weights. But it would’ve make a real mess if I’d had to break it – it’s part of the sprinkler system, and it probably doesn’t have a shut-off valve.”
Mac was free of the handcuffs and working on the lock of the office door when he heard a light step outside. He flashed a grin over his shoulder at Laura and stepped back from the door. A moment later, it was pushed open and Stephanie peered in.
“Dr. Sandburg? MacGyver? Oh my god, you’re all right – ” Stephanie flew across the room and hugged them both indiscriminately. “How come you’re still in here? The door wasn’t locked.”
Laura was holding Stephanie tightly, ruffling her hair, reassuring herself that the girl wasn’t hurt. She laughed unsteadily. “It was up until a moment ago, honey.”
Stephanie glanced over at Mac and flushed. “Oh. I guess you already rescued yourselves, then . . . ” She looked crestfallen.
“You did great, Stephanie,” Mac said warmly. “How’d you get back inside so quick?”
“I found a side door that wasn’t locked. Is that where you got in?”
“Well, yeah, although it was locked when I first got here.”
Stephanie flushed deeper. “It’s not
fair. I had to let them get a
way, and now it turns out you didn’t even need me – Mr. MacGyver, would you please teach me how to pick locks?”
Mac raised an eyebrow. “You planning on joining Pete’s Commandos? C’mon. Willis will be wondering what’s takin’ us so long.”
The van was plain white, unmarked, dirt-spattered and nondescript. Inside, it was a mad scientist’s lair of electronic equipment. Stephanie had been briefly disappointed that there wasn’t room in the van for her; but she brightened up when she learned that, instead, she was to ride in one of the accompanying unmarked LAPD cruisers. When she learned it was the same one Pete was riding in, she almost glowed. Rafé hadn’t been too happy either, but given the choice between riding in a police car and staying at Phoenix – or, worse, being sent home – he had swallowed his antipathy.
The mad scientist in the van was only mildly annoyed at the delay; but then, Willis wasn’t known for his sense of time passing. He was bent over the equipment, tending it with patient attention, and barely glanced up as Mac and Laura scrambled in.
“Everything set? Mission accomplished?”
“Pretty much – the bad guys have the paintings, and nobody got shot,” MacGyver replied. He gestured towards the large circular scope in front of Willis, already lit up and showing a large, bright dot. “And why bother to ask, genius? You’re already tracking them.”
“Just making sure, Mr. Unexpected MacComplications.” Willis studied the bruises on Mac’s face, glanced at Laura, and bit his lip. “Yeah. Well, better you than me, Mac. I think.”
From the front passenger seat, Addie was craning her neck, trying to see the controls that Willis and MacGyver were studying. She had made a face and swallowed nervously at the sight of Mac’s bruised face, but she didn’t comment on it. Instead, she pointed at the scope.
“I don’t get it. I know you put those thingummies in the paintings, but what the f*ck did you call them again? Jeepy something?”
“GPS,” Mac replied. “It stands for ‘Global Positioning System.”
“Right-o. I had one of those, but the wheels fell off.”
“Give it a few more years and everyone will have them,” Willis murmured absently. “It’s pretty much been restricted to military use so far, but the civilian applications are endless. Once they finish launching all the satellites in the new system – the technology’s getting more reliable every year, and less bulky – ”
Zak, in the driver’s seat, had also twisted himself around and was looking with fascination at the scope. “And I thought the whole James Bond gadget business was just wishful thinking.”
“The units are still too bulky for some purposes,” Mac broke in. “If the picture frames hadn’t been so large, we wouldn’t have been able to fit them in.” He wrapped an arm around Laura and gave her a strong squeeze. “I had a real bad moment back in the lab when Schmidt started talking about taking the paintings out of their frames. You handled that one beautifully: Dr. Sandburg saves the day.”
Laura smiled a thin, slightly nervous smile. Her eye had caught Addie’s when MacGyver had embraced her. The girl looked briefly wistful, then shrugged and attempted an air of cool nonchalance.
The two-way crackled, and they heard Pete’s voice. “All right, everyone. We’re ready to go. Willis, are you getting the signals?”
“Bright and clear, Pete. Heading northeast on Soto Street.”
“Right. Remember, everyone. Nice and slow – we’ve got all the time we need.”
Mac grinned in the darkness of the van.
Commando Pete rides again.Laura watched MacGyver as he bent over the scope, murmuring occasional instructions into the mike of the headset he had donned once he’d settled in. Willis was monitoring the equipment and correlating the signals to a street map of greater Los Angeles, calling out directions to Zak as needed; Mac relayed them to the police cruisers that were dispersed in a rough net around the target. The light from the scope picked out Mac’s face in sharp highlights and shadows, and glinted on Willis’ glasses; they looked like boys hunched over a video game.
“Huh. Better hang on, Pete – the movement’s stopped. I don’t think it’s another traffic light; there was a sideways turn first. It looks like they’ve parked somewhere – no, wait, they’re moving again.”
“Mac,” Willis’ voice held a note of alarm. “The signals are separating.”
“Didja hear that, Pete?”
Pete’s voice crackled over the two-way. “Can you tell which one is which?”
“Sure. The Rembrandt just turned south – the other two are headed northeast on Huntingdon.”
“Time to split up, boys,” Pete announced. “MacGyver, you and Willis keep after the Renoir and the Monet.” There was an indistinct murmur as Pete consulted with the police captain in charge of the police contingent. “Wyatt’s going with you; Ramirez and Blake will stay with us.”
“What if we can’t keep them all in range?” Laura asked.
Willis interrupted. “The Rembrandt has stopped moving again.” He peered at the scope as Mac gave Pete the location.
“Good,” said Pete. “I think we’ve got the Professor cornered at last.”
)
