Mishka
Chapter Eleven: Fenced InMacGyver winced as the buzzer sounded again. He frowned down at the point of the thin sword which bowed as it pressed against the double-padded vest just to the left of his heart. He glanced up to see a flash of white teeth as his opponent smiled within the cage of his visor before they backed away from each other.
They each turned toward their left, waiting to move on to their next match. Every competitor faced all the other competitors only once. Each match lasted a minute; the first fencer to score a point won instantly.
MacGyver didn't let his losses discourage him. He faced his next opponent, knowing that the man was just as tired as he was, had faced just as many competitors as he had, and was probably just as determined to win. As soon as the next match began, Mac feinted an overanxious attack, which was parried with a touch too much confidence. When the riposte came, MacGyver sidestepped it with unexpected speed. He reached low and touched the point of his épée low on the right side of his opponent’s vest.
MacGyver’s adversary, a Frenchman, yanked off his visor with a frustrated movement, but the bow and handshake he exchanged with MacGyver were genuinely respectful.
When the round ended, MacGyver returned to his team station, shaking out his arms that were numb after the constant jarring of clashing swords. Coach Maartin tossed him a grin along with a towel to mop the sweat from his face.
“Good win! But you use your energy too quickly! You’ll have nothing left for the rest of your matches if you keep sprinting like that.”
MacGyver nodded. “I know… but some of those guys fence like – for real! I’m glad for all this padding!” He patted his chest. “Besides, they’ve got to be getting tired too. I imagine by the end of the next set of matches, everyone’s going to be dragging their foils as if they’re broadswords.”
“Don’t you count on it!” Maartin slapped Mac on the back and left him panting on the bench as he passed out more towels and advice to his other gasping and sweating athletes.
I was tired – but I was thoroughly enjoying the competition. Fencing wasn’t a skill that a man could often find use for in this day and age, but the practice did sharpen a guy’s reflexes. I was finding out quickly that I wasn’t as fast as some of the lighter-built, whipcord athletes competing here, but I was longer in the arm than most of them. I think I was a little faster than they gave me credit for, too – at least at first glance. I do look more like a hockey player than a fencer. They were learning now, and I was pretty sure that the next few matches were gonna be a lot more difficult. MacGyver grinned.
I love the challenge of one-on-one dueling – when there’s nothing more at stake than points, that is, he reflected.
I'll take fencing over shooting any day.Of course, that was tomorrow’s competition: target shooting. It had been a point to this assignment that Mac hac nearly balked at.
I hate guns. I look at a gun and all I can think about is Jessie – how much I miss him and how unfair it is that he’s dead – because of a stupid mistake with a gun. My mistake.
It’s been a lotta years since that happened, but I’m still losing friends to guns; Vietnam didn’t do anything to change my point of view. I saw too much death there, and I learned that it isn’t just guns that devour lives. I came away from that war with just as many scars on the inside as on the outside, but I also learned a few other things.
There are men who fight – who will always fight – with whatever they’ve got handy: guns, rocks, pointed sticks – they’re all just as deadly as any other weapon. Even bare hands. I learned that I’m one of those fighters – that I can’t stand by and do nothing when someone needs help, needs someone to fight for them – which was why I was now working for the Pentagon and the DXS. But I keep to my convictions. I never use guns.
Well... not for their intended
use, anyway.
In spite of my feelings toward firearms – and to my chagrin – I’m a fair marksman. My dad taught me how to shoot. It took a little determination, but with visions of team glory foremost in my mind, I practiced shooting the air pistols with my fellow athletes until, gradually, the nausea and depression that handling the guns caused me subsided and disappeared. Mostly.
But there was no sense in worrying now about tomorrow – especially when there was plenty of action going on in front of me. The foil was light in my hand…excuse me – I mean, the épée…and the next round was about to begin.
Time to make with the swashbuckle!xoxox
MacGyver had made his contact, scored some points for his team, and met a lovely girl – everything about this assignment was going as planned, with bonuses – so it wasn’t surprising that he didn’t notice the two men standing in the back of the audience during the fencing competition.
They were watching the matches closely with stony faces – they might have been sober but very keen fencing fans – but they were in fact watching only MacGyver, noting who he spoke with, and preparing to follow him if he should try to leave the area. Occasionally one of the men would lift a hand to his ear, ostensibly to scratch his head or straighten the hat that shaded his eyes. Only a close observer would have noticed the tiny cords that came out of their ears and ran down the collars of their shirts.
Gorodisch was, in fact, a close observer. He frowned and wondered why the KGB was watching his American friend. Dumping the souvenir tray he was carrying, he slipped out of the auditorium without being noticed. Quickly locating a janitor’s closet, he disappeared inside for a few minutes.
When he emerged, gone was the vendor’s uniform, replaced by fencing whites and padded vest. Discreetly, he crossed back to the auditorium, entering though the competitors’ entrance. It was a matter of a few minutes’ loitering, fiddling with the buckles on the vest, until a lone athlete came jogging along, his fencing sword and helmet tucked under his arm, intently seeking the washroom facilities.
Gorodisch placed an ‘Out of Order’ sign on the doorknob – helpfully repeated in twenty languages – that he had taken from the janitor’s closet, and followed the man into the washroom.
When he came out several minutes later – alone – Gorodisch had on the caged helmet, which hid his blond hair and features efficiently, and was carrying the fellow’s foil. He patted the Japanese Olympic patch into place on his shoulder and joined the next round.
He had to combat four opponents before he found himself facing MacGyver. The two Soviets he let win out of an amused sense of patriotic duty – but the Italian and the Australian he mercilessly trounced, mourning slightly the fact that in doing so, he was scoring points for the Japanese. For the fifth match, he raised his épée and saluted his opponent. As Mac touched blades with him, he spoke softly, “Seven sisters had Sven, but no maid to marry him.”
MacGyver didn’t expect to hear the password in the middle of a Trial match – he was caught momentarily off-guard. Gorodisch used his hesitation to flick the tip of his sword forward. Only a hasty parry prevented the match from ending right then. He could see the Russian’s grin through the mesh face shield as the man spoke again, “Keep the tip up… I need the whole minute to talk. You’re being watched by the Party Boys.”
KGB, MacGyver translated silently.
Great. He defended a quick series of attacks smoothly. “Are we compromised?”
“Maybe not. Could be they want to know why you’ve been taking Administrator Vistkaya’s daughter to dinner.”
“Natalie?” MacGyver attacked by reflex, driving Gorodisch back to avoid the long lunge.
Gorodisch laughed as he danced back. “Go tonight to the National Art Museum. Bring your girl, if you want.” He brushed aside Mac’s feint and ducked under his arm smoothly.
Mac turned just in time to parry Gorodisch’s initiative. “Won’t they follow us there?”
The wiry agent grinned again, allowing MacGyver’s riposte to graze his vest just as the bell rang signaling the end of the match. “I’m counting on it.”
Everyone, sometimes, needs a camel.
Old troubleshooters never die...
They just wait til the last moment and then rescue themselves!
