Note from Loth: New and improved for your possible reading pleasure!

Mac in Martinique, ch 12
Over and Undercover

Chink never made it out of the bushes. While DuGaul and Jones are escorting MacGyver to the waiting helicopter, the indisposed gunman was lying on his stomach with his arms tied behind his back. A man known to the locals and tourists as Ricky the Rasta was kneeling beside him, watching the scene on the tarmac carefully through the bushes. As the men boarded the craft and the noise of the rotor rose, he lifted a radio to his lips and began to speak.

‘Ricky’ watched the helicopter lift off and drift through the air towards the south, out over the open sea. He solemnly hoped that the DEA man knew what he was doing. If he didn’t, Ricky was sure that he would never see him alive again…or MacGyver!

The man named Chink struggled against the handcuffs that were pinning his arms and tried to spit out the wad of cloth that Ricky had shoved in his mouth. Ricky earnestly hoped that the guy was through vomiting; he didn’t want him to choke to death. He kept an eye on the man as he gave instructions on the radio. Spotters all over the island and posted around the waters of Martinique were instructed to be on the lookout for the blue and white helicopter. ‘When I get word of where they were headed,’ he thought grimly, ‘that will signal the end of the dress rehearsal, and then… it’s showtime!’

“Don’t worry, old fellow,” Ricky said aloud to Chink. His Rastafarian accent gone, he now spoke with a vague European accent, as would one that was well-traveled might sound. “There’ll be a car around shortly to pick you up. You’re going to become the special guest of Her Majesty’s Secret Service—until such a time as we hand you over to the American authorities, anyway. Your part in this little drama is now over. Exit stage left and all that…”

⌂

“I don’t think I’ve ever had the privilege of entertaining such a charming trespasser before,” St. Just said to Mike. He took her hand and kissed the back of her knuckles, pouring on the charm.

This tactic might have worked for St. Just, with other women in the past, but with Mike Forrester nothing could have been less successful. She pulled her hand back sharply, as if she had touched something unhygienic. “Where is my friend?” she demanded.

“He has come to no harm,” St. Just said smoothly. He stepped back a bit, appraising Mike as she stood in the sunlight filtering through the French windows. “With such a face as yours, my dear, you should wear your hair up. Vous seriez le plus elegant!"

Mike tried to ignore him, but she couldn’t control the involuntary flush that crept over her cheeks. Piqued at herself for not being in better command of her emotions, she clenched her teeth and tossed her head. “The only time I’d ever dress up for you would be at your funeral!” The words sounded silly and Machiavellian, but she felt better for saying them. “I demand that you take me to Jack and release us immediately!”

“I do not think that you really mean that, my dear. This room is much more comfortable… and a woman of your grace belongs in a place like this.” He gestured around at his treasures, silver and brass, mahogany and crystal. “Tell me, what do you think of my little collection?”

“What do I think?” Mike looked around with a sour eye. “It’s very… nice. Except for one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I think you might improve your feng shui if you rearranged the furniture a bit. Here… let me help…” Mike grasped one of the finely carved, high-back chairs and swung it violently. St. Just was so surprised that he barely managed to step back far enough to avoid being struck. But Mike wasn’t through. She swung the chair in an arc and let it fly from her hands, sending it crashing through the double French windows. “Yes! That’s much better!” she said, dusting her hands together.

St. Just was completely shocked. He had never suspected for an instant that this woman could perform such an impulsive act. “You… you! The panes of those doors were leaded crystal! I had them imported from France! They were worth…”

“More than this?” Mike picked up a vase that was standing on a pedestal. She hefted it in a careless way. “It’s heavy… must be expensive.”

“No! Don’t… I beg you,” St. Just nearly sank to his knees. “Si vous plait! Not the vase… it is seventeenth century Huguenot… c'est irremplaçable!”

“Yeah, well… so is Jack.” Mike’s lips curved in a smile as she thought of what Jack would say if he heard her talking like that.

To St. Just, who must have had little experience with true friendship, her smile appeared to be a cruel sneer. He rose to his full height—not too impressive as he was but a mere inch or two taller than Mike herself—and nervously smoothed the sleeves of his suit. “Let us not be hasty… obviously I’ve underestimated you, my dear—I mean… mademoiselle.” He executed a short stiff bow. “Please put down the vase and let us talk like civilized human beings.”

“Just as soon as I see my friend.” Mike spun the vase on her palm, a trick she’d learned from an uncle who tended bar, back in Minnesota. “Then we can all talk together.”

⌂

The helicopter rose into the air and sped out toward the open ocean. The route that DuGaul had set for his contacts to use required that they fly as if toward the Big Island and then drop down to the deck, cruising under radar surveillance as they came back toward Martinique in a big circle. The pilot followed this routine and DuGaul sat in the seat next to him, lost in thought.

The phone call had come from one of DuGaul’s contacts in the marina, confirming that the man who called himself MacGyver had been seen the previous day in the company of another man and a woman… neither of which had been seen since. This news had aroused suspicions, that MacGyver was not someone who had been hired by St. Just not just to discover who had stolen the gold, but meant to replace DuGaul if it were not recovered.

DuGaul’s attitude was such that he believed that even if his suspicion turned out to be true, St. Just’s trust in him would be restored when he delivered MacGyver as a prisoner, proving his loyalty and capability. The gold would be recovered and the damages kept to a minimum… just two, possibly three eyewitnesses to eliminate and it would be back to business as usual.

Confident that he was on his way to a successful meeting, DuGaul looked lazily out through the transparent doors of the helicopter. The bay of Martinique was dotted with boats—not to be unexpected on such a clear, beautiful Caribbean afternoon—all over the natural harbor and far out into the ocean beyond the reefs. Looking down upon them, DuGaul was suffused with a feeling of superiority, as well as an aloof kind of satisfaction. The more traffic around the island, the more difficult it became for his smuggling operations to be noticed.

⌂

Below, scattered amid the flotsam and jetsam of the tourists and fishing boats, the sharp eyes of several special people noted the progress of the helicopter, reporting dutifully into their radios when it circled back toward the island.

A few minutes later yet another helicopter was reported, which appeared to be following the same flight path the first. This event triggered much commotion, like the rolling of the first snowball that leads to the great avalanche.

Ricky heard the reports. By triangulating the information on the direction of the ‘choppers, he made a good guess as to where they were headed. He gathered his men and laid out his instructions to them. The air was full of tightly controlled excitement; the day had finally arrived, and all their months of watching and waiting were soon to be over.

⌂

Other ears heard the reports, even over the highly protected frequencies that the DEA and InterPol used to communicate. Profits on drug sales and smuggling operations depended upon top-notch intelligence, and the pirates that DuGaul had hired to move his merchandise could afford the very best equipment. Indeed, they could not afford NOT to have the very best, and so they intercepted the news and guessed where the infamous, unnamed drug lord must have his secret location, just as Ricky had done. But the intent of the pirates was not to capture this man and bring him to Justice, but to get the payment that they had been cheated of and to set an example that they were not to be trifled with in such a manner.

They were after more than gold… they wanted blood as well!

Can't wait, can't wait! Thanks for the update!!! Looking forward to this chapter!!!!

Now completed and ready for public consumption!

Yummy!

Go Mike!!

Great job Loth! Keep up the great work!

The plot thickens!

You go Mike!