I'm sorry this took me so long to post--foul weather, busy days, and writer's block (yes, even someone who is prolific can suffer from writer's block) prevented me from posting it sooner. Enjoy!
Exile Part Three
Rated: PG
Five years earlier…
A woman stood over MacGyver’s sleeping form inside his houseboat, pocketing an empty syringe whose contents she had just finished injecting into his bare arm. Her code name was Python, and she was an elusive international assassin of indeterminate nationality with no allegiances, willing to perform a hit to the highest bidder. She had a reputation for lethal, sniper-like accuracy, killing her targets instantly usually with only one shot at long distance range. She was of mixed European and Asian descent, giving her appearance a blend of the exotic, mysterious, and sensual. Often, she would use her striking, unusual beauty to seduce influential men in order to obtain intelligence about her high-profile targets, but this time she was using her comely, dusky good looks for another purpose entirely, her long, thick dark hair neatly coiffed and wearing an immaculately tailored suit that accentuated and flattered her tall, curvaceous figure. She was dressed as a professional woman in the loyal service of the United States government, one of many world governments that had issued an enormous monetary sum for her capture. Ever since MacGyver and Pete Thornton had thwarted one of her assassination attempts in Central America, her flawless reputation had suffered as a result. Now, it was time for her to make both men suffer. They would destroy each other, and she would at last have her vengeance. She would once again prove to those doubting her competence after her last failure that she was still a viable candidate capable of successfully fulfilling their contracts.
Stirring, MacGyver slowly awoke, feeling groggy and dizzy, his thoughts vague and disordered. His blurred surroundings spun rapidly in front of his field of vision before his eyes adjusted properly, and even when they did, everything seemed slanted, distorted, and wrong. What should have been familiar to him was now foreign, strange, and new. His eyes wandered, bewildered and disoriented, struggling to make sense and regain his bearings until they at last settled on an attractive woman sitting cross-legged in a chair across from him. He stared at her, blinking at her confusedly.
“I was wondering when you would finally wake up,” the woman said, smiling pleasantly.
MacGyver continued to stare at her with bleary, bloodshot eyes, saying nothing in response.
“What’s the matter, MacGyver? Why are you looking at me like that? Don’t you recognize me?” She asked.
Exhausted and sore, MacGyver groaned and stretched as far as the sofa would allow his long legs to go, rubbing a hand over his face.
“No…who? MacGyver…” he rambled.
Python suppressed a sly grin. It appeared the substance she had administered to him was working effectively.
“I was afraid this might happen,” she said, sighing as if in dismay. “We always considered it a possibility. You lost your memory on a recent mission, and now it appears you’re suffering from a relapse.”
Still weak and nauseated, MacGyver attempted to push himself upright, bracing himself against the armrest of the sofa, trembling slightly.
“Mission?” he asked faintly. “What…?”
“You work for a covert government organization that specializes in counterterrorism. I’m your boss.”
MacGyver squinted at her, his expression forming a puzzled frown that knitted his brows. “For how long?” He asked tiredly.
“Almost four years now. You really don’t remember?”
MacGyver looked around the houseboat again, his confused mind desperately searching and groping for some connection, for something that made sense, but everything was a complete blank.
“No,” he said. “I can’t seem to remember anything at the moment.” He looked back at her with lost, pleading eyes, appealing to her for assistance and information.
“Listen, I understand how frightening and confusing not to mention frustrating this must be for you,” Python said in a sympathetic voice. “You’re not sure what you can trust or believe, your memories unreliable. They will gradually return to you though, I promise you. We’ll spare no expense and provide you with the highest quality therapy and specialists to work with you. We can’t afford to lose our top operative to mental impairment, after all. Right now, however, I’m afraid I need you to focus and do something for me. Normally I wouldn’t ask considering your fragile state of mind, but timing is critical and we are in dire need of your help. That is, if you feel you can competently handle the assignment.”
“What is it?” MacGyver asked, the dizziness and nausea subsiding, his mind beginning to clear.
Python smiled. “I knew I could rely on you,” she said. She pulled a glossy black and white photograph out from beneath the folds of her neatly starched and pressed suit jacket, handing it to him. “Do you recognize this man?” She asked, watching him carefully, waiting to see what his reaction would be.
MacGyver studied the photo closely. It was a picture of Pete, taken by Python several days earlier with a telephoto lens with the same precision and accuracy as her sniper aim, standing on the steps outside The Phoenix Foundation building. For a brief moment he thought he should know the identity of the man, but then that glimmer of recognition faded. The more he stared at the image the grainier, blurrier, and more pixilated it became.
“No,” he said at last, handing the photo back to Python, who had to work hard to contain another pleased, delighted smile.
“His name is Peter Thornton, an alias no doubt,” Python said, putting the picture away back inside the folds of her suit jacket. “No one knows for sure what his real name is. He’s an international terrorist using a legitimate organization known as The Phoenix Foundation for his cover and his base of operations. A few days ago we received sensitive intelligence information that he plans to leave the country tonight, undetected by authorities, planning on setting up his operations elsewhere. Our government wants to prevent that from happening, which is why I must stress again that timing is of the essence if we are to apprehend him. We already have several of our agents working undercover inside the building that can provide you with adequate protection and backup, but I’m afraid the job of killing him is yours.”
MacGyver looked at her, stunned. “Killing him?” He asked.
“Oh yes,” Python said. “Our government wants him dead, MacGyver, and after I show you what appalling, gruesome atrocities he has committed, you will understand why the death warrant has been issued.”
“Still, I…”
“This is a highly sensitive, top secret operation,” Python said. “You have been selected and given proper license to carry out the orders without impunity. In fact, your actions will be commended by our government. You are doing your patriotic duty ridding us of this mass murderer.”
MacGyver stared at her, uncertain and hesitant.
“Look, I understand your reservations, but after you see the overwhelming evidence against him, I think you will be convinced,” Python said, removing more photographs from beneath her jacket and spreading them out on MacGyver’s coffee table for his examination. They depicted disturbing, grisly, horrific scenes of human depravity, from brutal decapitations and executions to mass graves and the aftereffects of biological and chemical warfare, many of the dead strewn about the streets women and children, innocents slaughtered heartlessly.
“Just look at what he and his men are responsible for, how cruel, inhuman, and barbaric their methods are,” she said in an emotional tone, her voice quavering almost as if she was about to cry, utterly devastated. “He is still active, still plotting. He will continue to rape, pillage, and ravage every part of the globe he can, including America, unless we stop him.”
That she was deliberately slandering Pete’s name and reputation barely registered in MacGyver’s mind, the shocking, powerful, and vivid images disgusting him, persuading him that Pete Thornton was indeed a homicidal madman, a threat and enemy to a world that valued and honored human decency, a dangerous man who had committed numerous crimes again humanity and needed to be stopped. Hatred and anger began to build inside him over the man who could do something so vicious and cruel to his fellow man, acting mercilessly without remorse, pity, or compassion.
“Why would anyone do this?” he asked, partly to himself, muttering, rubbing his chin with the tip of his index finger, lost in deep thought and contemplation over the horrors of humanity.
“Because he is a conscienceless, bloodthirsty, power-mad tyrant,” Python said. “He wishes to possess complete world domination, as other dictators have in the past, and he will use any means necessary to achieve that goal, even if it means killing thousands of innocent people. Like most terrorists, he wants to make a point with death, using it as the ultimate symbol and expression of his power.”
MacGyver continued to stare at the graphic scenes of brutality, finding them repugnant but also unable to look away from them, as if mesmerized.
“Maybe now you will understand what you must accomplish,” Python said, “what kind of man you will be ridding this world of, how things will be better off and much more peaceful once he is eliminated, one more thug removed from the face of this earth, one less person around to terrorize and slaughter the innocent. He is your target, MacGyver, and our government wants him gone before he has another chance to perpetrate another malicious act.”
“When do I move?” MacGyver asked, conviction in his voice, his dark eyes glittering fervently with passion, feeling he was doing a service to humanity by ridding the world of such a monster.
“Tonight,” Python said.
***
Python’s sleek black European sports car pulled up to the security entrance of The Phoenix Foundation, MacGyver her unwitting passenger and assassin, completely under the influence of the drugs in his system that were causing him temporarily to forget his life and all his associations with Pete, the image of the man transformed into a murderer in his mind.
“Now, you infiltrated this place awhile ago, so you should have no problem going through security,” Python said, handing him a gun. “They’ll remember and know who you are, so don’t be surprised if they engage you in friendly conversation. Just remain calm and don’t do anything that would arouse suspicion or blow your cover. Understand?”
MacGyver nodded, automatically shoving the gun into the waistband of his jeans and concealing it with his jacket, not even once thinking about it or how wrong it felt in his hands.
“Your target Pete Thornton is on the twentieth floor, calling himself the Director of Operations. You are to fire upon him and kill him. The rest of the floor is staffed with our operatives who will provide backup should something go wrong. Now remember, Pete knows you too, so don’t be surprised if he also acts friendly towards you. Don’t trust him. Don’t listen to him. It is all a ruse, a deception. He will plead with you and profess his innocence, begging you not to kill him, but you must. You must remain firm and steady in your resolution. Remember who is and what he’s done. Don’t allow him to sway you with pitiful, pathetic displays of emotion. They will all be designed to preserve his life and end yours. He will try to ensnare you if you give him the opportunity. You must now allow him that chance. You must survive and he must die if we are to succeed. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” MacGyver said, almost mechanically.
Python smiled. “Good. Now, I will be in an undisclosed location, monitoring your progress. I wish you the best of luck and I’m glad you decided to do this for us and for your country despite your present state of mind. Your work will be greatly appreciated. Are you ready?”
MacGyver looked up at the towering building that housed The Phoenix Foundation, the imposing structure glittering with light in the darkness of night, clouds overhead illuminated periodically by lightning strikes, giving the edifice an ominous, threatening appearance, much as he imagined Pete Thornton to look like when he realized his life was over and he had no escape, no more foreign military dictatorships under which to hide and seek refuge.
“I think so,” he said, sighing.
“Don’t be nervous. You’re doing the right thing for your country. Don’t forget that,” Python said, smiling reassuringly.
Nodding, MacGyver slowly opened the door and got out of the car. Python watched him as he approached the entrance before driving away, slithering into the concealment of night, never to be seen again, MacGyver doing her work for her, completing her unfinished business.
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
Thank heavens I got killing ninja persian kittens to protect me *glomps kittens* They are soooo cute they kill evil people just with their flufy cute looks 
