[Lothithil]

Mac in Martinique, ch 13
Off the Cuff, on the Fly

When they finally brought her friend into the room, Mike let out an audible sigh of relief. Jack appeared not to be hurt. The guard who had fetched him was holding a shotgun and smoking a long, thin cigar.

St. Just was wearing his leer again. Mike’s arms were tired from holding the heavy crystal vase. When she saw Jack, she turned and she called out to him.

“Jack! Are you alright?” She hurried toward him, and St. Just plucked the priceless vase from her hands. A second guard caught Mike by the arms and kept her from running to her friend. Jack’s guard put one hand on his shoulder to keep him from moving, chewing on his cigar and grinning.

“Now that we’re all here,” St. Just said, as he righted the vase on the pedestal again, adjusting it minutely until it was perfectly placed, “we can begin. A nice little drama you staged, my dear, but to no avail. I intended to reunite you with your partner after a brief interview. I think that you will be more forthcoming with the information that I want to hear if you can see your friend. Know that my man there will kill him in an instant if you do not cooperate.”

Mike glared at him hatefully. “You’ll get more answers if you actually ask questions.”

“Quite.” St. Just walked over to the windows that Mike had destroyed. “When you were apprehended trespassing on my estate, you were carrying a large quantity of gold coins. I would like to know where you found them.”

Mike and Jack looked at each other. Jack shook his head slightly, and Mike gave him an exasperated glare.

St. Just watched this exchange with interest. He spoke again, his voice smooth and reasonable, “What good will it do for you to remain silent? I have both of you… I have the gold. I have the wide open sea to dispose of any evidence… what have you to lose by telling me what I want to know?” St. Just nodded at the guard who was holding Jack. The man prodded him with the gun menacingly.

“Hey!” Jack protested. He turned and waved a hand in front of his face, brushing aside the cigar smoke. “Do you mind? I don’t mind the gun, but your cigar is killing me! Look, Mr. Saint Whatever…” Jack cast around in his mind, trying to think of something to get them out of trouble, “we’d really like to tell you what you want to know, but... but our boss would kill us if we talk!”

“Jack…” Mike hissed between her teeth, “What are you saying?”

“Look, Mike… it’s no good playing dumb now,” Jack said loudly, “we’re dead if we don’t talk. Maybe Mr. Juice will protect us if we tell him what we know.”

Mike stared at Jack as if he were insane, then she noticed that his left eye was winking at her. She suddenly realized what he was trying to do. “Ah…” she murmured, playing along, “oh, Jack… we can’t. If we tell... there’s nowhere we could run to… nowhere we could hide that he wouldn’t find us!”

“You see, sir… we work for the biggest crime boss in the Northern USA…”

“Jack! Shut up!” Mike begged.

“He sent us down here to make contact with one of his suppliers. We didn’t know anything about the gold until we saw it yesterday… “

St. Just watched them both in bemusement. “You don’t seriously expect me to believe this nonsense! I know the men who work in this market and none of them would dare come into my territory without permission.”

“You don’t know our boss,” Jack said. “He’s not afraid of anything or anyone! He makes the crime bosses in Chicago look like… like paperboys!”

At that moment, the sound of a helicopter approaching attracted everyone’s attention. St. Just listened for a few seconds, a puzzled look growing across his face. He pointed to one of the guards—the one with the cigar—and said, “Hold them here and watch them!”

Mike and Jack were shoved together into the corner of the room in front of an old cannon; an antique gun built to fire eighteen pound cannonballs from the deck of a French frigate. Mike tripped over the corner of a brass fitting that had been attached to the floor, holding a number of round black cannonballs. Jack caught her before she could fall, and she clung to him. Their guard lifted the shotgun and continued to grin at them around his cigar, while St. Just and his other four henchmen hurried out of the room.

⌂

Though they were some miles out over the ocean, Mac got a marvelous view of a huge white house perched amid a tangle of jungle. He saw a perfect small crescent beach cradling a floating dock with a sport-fisher and a few smaller crafts moored. Above the beach perched a sprawling white house, enclosed upon both sides by thick trees. An island hideaway, apparently only accessible by air or sea, and—MacGyver was soon to learn—it was their destination.

Mac’s Voice-over:
We were taking an exciting ride, right down low over a beautiful expanse of blue-green water. The winds off of the Gulf were making the air choppy, causing the helicopter to shake frequently. The pilot was good, though. He kept us steady and under the radar, and in spite of the uncertainty and peril that awaited me at the end of this ride, I might have enjoyed the trip… but for the company I was keeping.

I was thinking about Jack and Mike. It had crossed my mind that they could have been captured by DuGaul’s associates or maybe even the smugglers—who were probably pretty steamed about Jack making off with their gold. But worrying about them wasn’t going to help right now. The best thing I could do for my friends was to get myself out of this situation alive.

DuGaul had taken the seat next to the pilot, leaving me in the back of the helicopter cabin with Jones. I was filled with questions I wanted to ask my undercover friend, but because of the noise of the chopper, I would have had to shout to make myself heard. Jones was beginning to look nervous, and I realized that he was on new ground now, too. This was the first time he had been taken along to meet ‘the boss’—a moment he’d been waiting for, for a long time.

Unless, of course, that phone call had been somebody blowing his cover. I didn’t really think so, ‘cause if it had been, why bring him along now when he could have just shot him on the tarmac and hid his body in the grass?

Why am I worrying about him?! He’s getting paid to work undercover—I’m supposed to be on vacation! But I was worried…’cause even though he’d roughed me up a little, he has also helped my friends escape the bungalow and he’d saved my life… or rather, given me a stay of execution. How much longer that would last was anybody’s guess, but I was grateful. It gave me some time to try to think of a way out of this mess.

Time is hope, and when you’ve got hope, nothing is inevitable.

MacGyver began to look around for things that he could use. He felt around under his seat and came out with something. His movement attracted DuGaul’s attention.

He turned in his seat and pointed the gun at Mac. “What are you doing?” DuGaul demanded.

“Um… I was feeling a little queasy,” MacGyver answered, raising his voice so he could be heard. He held up the thing he had found under the seat; an airsick bag. “I hate heights,” Mac offered him an embarrassed grin.

“First Chink… now you. Don’t make a mess,” DuGaul warned. He sat back in his seat, sighing with disgust.

Mac quickly opened the bag and inflated it. He motioned slightly to Jones—careful not to attract DuGaul’s attention again—and pointed at the pocket where Jones had stashed the bullets taken from DuGaul’s gun.

Nonplussed, Jones brought them out of his pocket. Sitting directly behind DuGaul, Mac knew that the man would not see the movement or what Jones was doing. The pilot could have, but he continued to look forward and ignored his passengers.

Mac pointed at the bag and made little motions of twisting and dumping. Jones finally realized what he wanted after the third time.

Nodding his head with understanding at last, he complied with MacGyver’s request. Under his own seat, he found another airsick bag. He opened it, and using the pliers in the pocketknife that he had confiscated from Mac, he twisted off the lead from all the bullets and dumped the gun powder into the bag. He then passed the bag to Mac when he was done.

MacGyver took the bag and carefully pressed it flat and folded it closed, hiding it in the waistband of his jeans. Jones also gave him back the knife. MacGyver slipped it into his pocket, giving Jones a nod of thanks. The empty bag remained in Mac’s lap. Mac had plans for it later. He gave out an occasional cough as if he were loosing his battle with airsickness.

DuGaul was so disgusted by the noises that he did not turn around once. The pilot continued to ignore them; he was focused on attempting to land the helicopter in the stiff off-shore breeze that was making their rides so bumpy.

They were descending now, landing onto an open space on the green lawn. The make-shift landing site was behind the house so that it could not be seen from the seaward approach.

This is it, MacGyver thought. It’s almost Showtime…

~~~tbc

[tandt14]

Can't wait. Can't wait!!! This is a great story!!! Keep up the great job!!!

[MacNymph]

Great story Loth.

Can't believe you waited two months before posting 14. Glad I was so far behind!