The Art of Smuggling Camels
part six, Fifty-Two Guard Pick-up "You missed Dingo already, eh, Pete?" Sam asked, setting out a tray of banana bread to go with the coffee he had brewed as his father was speaking. He took a slice and spread it with butter, setting in front of Mac. "Try it, Dad. It's the recipe you gave me from Grandma Jackson."
Pete laughed, stirring some cream into his coffee. "I wouldn't do so far as to say I missed him, but I wouldn't have objected to a stampede of wild camels at that moment... or wildebeests, or crocodiles... anything would have been welcome! I was sure that we were both dead men."
"Ye of little faith," Mac said, talking around a bite of bread. "Mmm... your great-grandmother would have been proud of you, Sam. You're a good cook."
Sam grinned. "So, what happened? Obviously you both escaped somehow. Finish the story!"
"In a second... unlike revenge, banana bread is best when served warm!" Mac finished his slice and washed it down with a sip of coffee. "Ah! This is even better than that date-bread that they served at the American Embassy, remember Pete?"
"How could I forget? It was the first food I had eaten for days that didn't smell like camel or was coated with sand! But how did you know about the bread? I didn't see you after we got separated..."
"Whoa! Wait now! Don't tell the story out of sequence! Dad, have another slice and get on with it!"
"Yes, son." Mac consumed the bread as he had been directed. He licked the tips of his fingers to show his appreciation. "We were in Cairo, we were surrounded by bad guys, and we were fresh out of camels. I was beginning to wish I had headed back out into the desert with Dingo and the girls."
In Cairo"Got any ideas," Pete asked, wondering if he could bring up the rifle quick enough to shoot their way through the men to freedom.
Mac's hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Yeah. Give them the gun so they don't shoot us right now."
"Any
good ideas?" Pete asked with bitter irony.
Mac held up his arms as if in surrender. Pete saw that he had something square-ish in one of his hands. His answer came in a whisper that Pete barely heard, "Here's a few ideas: Stay low. Move fast. Think smart. And if you go, take company along." Mac met Pete's eyes, and Pete saw a mischievous twinkle there. He nodded slightly, and one of Mac's eyes gave him the flicker of a wink.
Pete made a show of taking out the gun, moving carefully so that the men would not take out their guns. As he drew their eyes and attention, Mac made his move.
Back at the shack by the river, Mac had found a battered pack of playing cards. They were warped beyond use; apparently someone had spilled kerosene on the deck. They still smelled of the stuff, and Mac had pocketed them on impulse. Now he took them out, along with one of the books of matches he had also taken. With practiced fingers, he bent one of the matches down and struck it with a snap, causing it to flare to life. All of the matches caught and as the flame leaped up, he pinched the edges of cards in his fingers and scattered them into the air above the fire.
The pasteboards ignited instantly, fanning out over the heads of the men. They cried out and ducked, some falling down and tripping the others, trying to avoid being burned. Pete slugged the man who had taken the rifle from him, and then he was shoved hard in the direction of the Embassy.
"Run for the gate!" Mac shouted. Pete did, and he sighed with relief as an American soldier swung the heavy iron thing open so that he could slip through to safety. But to Pete's great dismay, Mac had not followed him. There was sounds of a struggle coming from the alley, some smoke from where someone's beard had caught fire, and then-- as Pete most feared-- the sounds of gun-shots ringing out.
The soldiers inside the Embassy would not allow Pete to go back outside. They insisted that he stay while the city guard was called and the scene was investigated. The bandits-- or whoever they were-- were long gone, of course. No body was discovered. All that was found were a few singed playing cards and a flattened roll of duct tape.
Epilogue"And all that time I spent with your father, Sam, I never saw his face," Pete added, after Mac made it clear that he was finished talking. "I never really believed that they had killed him, but I didn't look for him after it was all over. He could have been anyone; a soldier, an expatriate, a smuggler... and I had no witnesses that could corroborate that he even existed. Nobody at the Command Level would admit that they had sent him.
"It wasn't until much later, after I met him again in '79, that I put the name 'Mac' and 'MacGyver' together. I checked the files and discovered who it was that had been sent to locate the terrorists. Your father left the military right after that incident, but General Hawkins had kept track of him, reactivating him for special assignments... like that trip to Burma."
Mac grunted when Pete mentioned Burma, and he threw his friend an icy glare.
Pete waved him off. "That has been declassified for ages now, Mac. Anyway, I'm lucky that I had the high security clearance that I did in the DXS, or I would never have learned the truth."
"The Versatile Truth, you mean… as recorded by the military," Mac said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "You won't find any record of what I just told you anywhere in those files, and you
know it's the truth."
Pete nodded; there was nothing more to say.
"That's
it?" Sam gaped at Mac, who was helping himself to the last slice of bread. "But how did you escape? Why didn't you go to the Embassy, too? And did the Afghan terrorists ever get caught? What about..."
Mac laughed, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Hey! I just finished one story, and now you want another? Do I
look like Mother Goose?"
Sam laughed. "Okay, I'll give you a break... today. But answer just one more question for me..."
Mac sighed. "What?"
"Why did you name that camel 'Dingo'?"
"I thought you'd
never ask." Mac grinned, warming up for the punch line. "I bought him in Aden, from an Australian smuggler who was going to have him put down. Said he couldn't train him well enough to sell for a fair price, because he was 'mean enough to eat children'. So that name seemed to fit."
"I can testify to that," Pete said, rubbing his leg as if it still hurt because of a certain camel's bite.
The sound of three men laughing rang out through the peaceful California evening.
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Everyone, sometimes, needs a camel.
Old troubleshooters never die...
They just wait til the last moment and then rescue themselves!
Bravo!!!! 
