Phoenix Field Agent
Posts: 1,889
Joined: 11 Jan 2006
Gender: Female
Country: USA
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Season: season 3
Episode:Passages
Vehicle: Jeep
Jacket: Black leather
House: House boat
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Catastrophic Failure Part Five
Rated: R
Once again, Pete heard nothing but the reproduction of MacGyver’s voice on his answering machine when he called. He had never left a message before, but as days continued without hearing from him, his concern was enough that he decided to try this time, thinking that perhaps the sound of his voice would be enough to motivate his friend to answer.
“MacGyver…hello? This is Pete. Come on, Mac, pick up the phone, please. I haven’t heard from you, and I’m starting to get worried. Look, I know how you feel, but you have to say something sometime. Talk to me. Mac? Are you there? Answer me, please.” Sighing audibly into the phone, he realized he was doing nothing but wasting tape with his pathetic attempt to get through to him. MacGyver wouldn’t respond. “All right…just…call me when you have a moment, huh? I hope you’re taking care of yourself.”
Hanging up, he wondered what was happening to his friend. He knew he was grieving and suffering under a tremendous weight of guilt and was stubborn and bitter, but even in his most despondent state he should have been able to utter at least one word. That was all Pete wanted to hear from him. Just one word that would acknowledge that despite his misery he was still alive, still existing even if it was a daily struggle. He knew his friend was not given to suicidal notions, but having heard nothing from him in days, almost weeks, made him worry that perhaps his despair had led him to do something drastic, something self-destructive. Although the investigation into the bridge collapse was nowhere near its completion, he began to consider returning to California to see what had become of MacGyver. He knew he risked the possibility that Mac would be infuriated by his presence, checking on him as if he required monitoring, yet if his friend was in danger, he wanted to be available to rescue him from himself. Before he made up his mind to arrange a flight home he walked over to the investigative team’s tent to see if he could get an update from Ted on their progress. Peering through the flap inside, he saw Ted and several of his team gathered around their lab equipment, still inspecting the broken fragments of the demolished bridge.
“Anything new to report?” He asked.
Ted turned at the sound of his voice. “Come in, Pete,” he said.
Pete complied and entered the tent fully, standing over the sections of bridge with him.
“So far, there has been little progress, I’m afraid,” Ted said. “We’re still looking at all the theories, thoroughly testing and running computer simulations on each one to see which are the most probable. We’re checking the etchings in the bridge for chemical compounds such as residue from acids or other potentially corrosive substances. Our expert in this area has conducted several interviews with the neighboring tribes only to find them either uncooperative or strongly denying their involvement.”
“My people have had little to offer, either,” Pete said. “Once again, their backgrounds all check out fine. They’ve seen nothing, at least nothing that would explain this.”
Ted heard the frustration and sadness in his colleague’s strained, tired voice. “Look, we’ll arrive at a satisfactory conclusion soon, I’m certain of it,” he said. “It’s just going to take time and commitment. Bridges are more complex engineering feats than they appear to be on the surface. That MacGyver was able to design and construct one at all is a remarkable achievement.”
“I just hope that after sifting through all this wreckage and devastation he will still be able to find something to be proud of,” Pete said. “Listen, that reminds me…I think I’m going to take a flight back to California for awhile and check up on him. He hasn’t been returning my calls or even answering his phone. He may want to be alone, and he might not be too thrilled to see me, but I feel I need to be there with him for awhile to comfort him.”
“Whatever you want to do, Pete,” Ted said. “We’ll continue the investigation here.”
“I’ll make sure that the men directly involved in the bridge’s construction are interviewed again. I’m not giving up on this investigation. You will keep me posted by phone?”
“Of course, Pete.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Go see MacGyver. We’ll take care of things here.”
***
Pete tried calling MacGyver again from the plane, but he still heard nothing but the answering machine greeting. Once the plane landed, he wasted no time obtaining transportation out to his house boat, not allowing fatigue from the long international flight to hinder him. When the cab from the airport dropped him off at the marina, he noticed almost immediately that MacGyver’s jeep was absent from the parking lot. Running towards the house boat, he peered inside the front door’s glass paneling, shocked when he saw the clutter of papers scattered across the floor. The place appeared to be ransacked. Could someone have kidnapped him at gunpoint and forced him to drive somewhere? Pulling on the door handle, he noticed that it was locked. Unlocking it with his copy of the key, he entered cautiously, looking around for any other evidence of a violent struggle or a remaining unwanted intruder waiting to pounce and attack. Everything else appeared to be in order, no furniture overturned or cushions upended. All books were still on the bookshelves, drawers closed. Gradually, Pete began to relax. No one had broken in and taken MacGyver anywhere. He had gone somewhere of his own volition. That the door was locked, no glass in the front entrance had been shattered, and everything appeared to be in order except for the ripped, crumpled papers littering the floor indicated that his friend was fine, but he was nowhere to be seen inside his house boat.
Kneeling down towards the floor, Pete picked up several pieces of the paper, trying to reconstruct them in the same manner that Ted and his investigative team were trying to reconstruct the bridge to determine the cause of its demise. Staring at them, examining them for a long time, he began to realize they were detailed sketches and plans for the bridge, torn in half as if in a fit of rage, their jagged tear marks revealing the angry, destructive mood of the person who had done it, contrasting sharply with the delicate, beautiful pencil drawings, an extraordinary artist’s rendering from MacGyver’s gifted mind. All the months of careful planning amounted to nothing at all now, the torn shreds of the design the final phase of the bridge’s tragic fate. For a moment Pete wondered again if someone else, someone who somehow knew about the project had done this to the plans, but once again the lack of evidence of any intruder made him believe that it was MacGyver’s work, a man appalled by how easily something he made could be taken from him in a matter of seconds, something he had worked hard for and poured his soul into, dedicated to it, almost every moment of his life absorbed in it. He seemed to recognize the futility of all his hours of preparation and diligence by tearing up those plans, consigning them to the garbage, worthless.
“Aw Mac I’m so sorry,” Pete said aloud, balling up the paper in his hands, clenching them tightly into fists. “Why did this have to happen to you?”
Standing, his legs beginning to feel tingly and numb from putting pressure on them for so long in an unnatural position, he stretched and looked around the house boat some more for a clue as to MacGyver’s whereabouts, tossing the balls of paper he’d made back to the floor. The most obvious place for him to look was MacGyver’s brass sailboat key holder near the front door, seeing what keys he might have taken besides his jeep key. He didn’t recognize most of them, but he did see one set that was missing that he would have known anywhere, even with his eyes closed. The keys to his cabin were also gone.
“Why didn’t I think of that before?” He asked, once again aloud and to himself. “He always goes there when he’s upset.”
He knew that by going up there MacGyver had wanted complete privacy and isolation and that he was about to intrude upon that, but he didn’t care. He had to see him and see how he was doing, worried that he was allowing himself to slowly wither away up there.
“Hang on Mac, I’m coming,” he said, leaving the house boat.
***
“Uh…excuse me…you’re Ted Stewart, right? The lead man on this investigation?” A man asked Ted, appearing unexpectedly inside his tent.
“Yes I am,” Ted said. “How may I help you?”
He looked at the man, observing his appearance. He was of medium build, somewhat stocky, a mustache on his face. He seemed nervous and hesitant about something, his eyes darting around as if checking to make sure they were alone.
“My name’s Ralph,” he said. “I’m one of the guys who worked on the bridge.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Ted said, shaking the man’s large, broad, and rough hand.
“I have to say I feel as terrible as everyone else does about what happened,” Ralph said, shaking his head. “What a loss. I…I almost feel responsible…”
“Those feelings are natural,” Ted said. “We all feel that way, no one more than MacGyver, since it was his design.”
“Well, what I mean is…I think I could have done more to stop it.”
“What do you mean? You and your men are the best builders we could find.”
“No sir, that’s not what I mean,” Ralph said, sighing. His eyes had been staring at the floor, but now they lifted and retuned to looking directly at Ted, the irises gray, hard, and intense, as if he had seen a lot of hard work and hardship in his life. “I think I saw somebody that shouldn’t have been there when we were building the bridge, and I never reported him to anybody.”
Ted arched an eyebrow. “Really?” he asked. “Tell me more. Why didn’t you report him?”
Ralph shrugged. “I dunno,” he said. “At the time, I thought he was just one of our guys, you know? One of the crew. He blended in so well and acted so normally that I guess no one would have ever noticed or suspected him of anything.”
“What made you suspect him?”
“Well…I saw him, this one time, when the bridge was almost finished…he was…doing something to the support beams and trusses. I couldn’t quite make out what he was doing, but it didn’t seem right, you know? It didn’t seem like he was doing any work that needed to be done in that section.”
“Was it the section that collapsed?”
Ralph nodded soberly. “I’m afraid so,” he said.
“Oh my God,” Ted said. “Then it could be sabotage, after all.”
“Yes sir, and I did nothing to stop it.”
“It isn’t your fault, Ralph. How could you have known? After all, you said you couldn’t tell exactly what he was doing.”
“It looked legit at the time, I suppose.”
“That’s right. It’s not easy to spot a saboteur. They operate through stealth and deception, not easily noticed or detected. This man who infiltrated your work crew…what did he look like?”
“I’m not really sure,” Ralph said. “He looked just like any one of us. He’s kind of hard to describe.”
“Sounds like it could be a professional,” Ted said. “The neighboring tribes might be right. No matter what hostility remains between them, I don’t believe any of them had anything to do with this. It had to be someone else. The question is who and what agency they worked for, perhaps a terrorist organization. Have you seen this man among your crew since?”
“No, it’s really weird, actually. After the bridge collapsed, he just vanished, as if he never existed. No one ever saw him again.”
“Well, I’m going to have to call Pete and tell him this stunning new information,” he said. “Thank you Ralph for coming forward. I know you were afraid and felt guilty, but you’ve done the right thing, and I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome,” Ralph said. “I just couldn’t keep it to myself any longer. I figure if it can help you guys solve what happened…”
“Of course. Thanks again.”
Nodding, Ralph exited the tent. Ted watched him go, his movements and posture humble, yet he was a brave, strong man for divulging what he knew and aiding in the investigation with some crucial new evidence to support their sabotage theory. Reaching for his phone, he called Pete, but he received no answer. He tried another number that the director of operations had provided, yet he got the same result. No answer. It was as if in his quest to find MacGyver, he had disappeared as well.
***
The morning was dark and oppressive, shrouded in a thick fog, but MacGyver decided he needed a hike anyway, regardless of the weather. Besides, the gloom fit his current mood. He wanted to try to forget everything that had happened to him recently, wanting to try to regain some perspective if he could, dragging his mind out of its haze. Stretching and yawning outside near the front entrance of Pete’s cabin, he was prepared to go on his trek, planning on taking just a short hike, returning at sunset to replenish his energy reserves and make another roaring fire in the fireplace, trying to relax and calm himself if he could. He had taken several hot baths, tired of his grime and filth after several days of allowing it to accumulate, the steamy vapors from the water therapeutic and restoring him, at least for awhile. Without his sedatives he could barely sleep and he was exhausted and felt grouchy, but he was trying, trying to claw his way out of the grave where he had interred himself. Constant thoughts of the bridge disaster still plagued him, but he fought them, determined to continue despite them, allowing himself to feel the pain instead of numbing it.
A high-pitched whizzing sound interrupted his thoughts, followed by the hissing of air leaking from something. Looking in the direction where he thought it originated, he saw an arrow shaft had pierced one of the tires on his jeep.
“What the…?”
He barely had time to react when another one whizzed by rapidly, piercing another tire. Looking around for the source of the arrows, he couldn’t see anyone.
“Hello?” He called out. “Who’s there? What’s going on? What are you doing?”
His invisible assailant aimed and fired another arrow, but MacGyver was too distracted with trying to find him that he wasn’t able to dodge its path. It pierced his shoulder, going straight through it. At first he felt nothing, staring at the wound and the shaft through his shoulder in shock, detached from it and the blood flowing from it as if he were looking at someone else’s injury instead of his own. As the initial shock faded, he began to feel unbearable pain. Wincing and groaning, he held it, watching the blood flow between his long fingers, trying to stop it. He had little time to tend to his wound when another arrow was fired, darting right past him but missing, striking the ground and bouncing. More arrows came in rapid succession, and he felt as if he was in one of his westerns, under siege by Indians. The assault continued, arrows raining down on him, another one threatening to pierce through his body at any moment. Even though he was in incredible pain from the arrow through his shoulder, he knew he wasn’t safe where he was and that he had to run into the woods to try to evade his unseen attacker. Whoever it was, he knew their intentions were serious. They were after him, and they were going in for the kill.
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
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Wow another great chapter, MacsChick!
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