“Zia?!”

“MacGyver? I didn’t know if you’d still have the same number...” There was a pause and MacGyver heard a sniff and a rustle. “It’s good to hear from you.”

“Yeah, you too. Are you OK? You sound kind of...” He listened to white noise hissing on the line. “Zia? You still there?”

“Yes. Yes I am. I don’t want to bother you, MacGyver, but I didn’t know who else to call. I...” MacGyver heard the sniff again, followed by a sigh.

“Zia, I’m never too busy to talk to a friend. What’s wrong? Is Ahmed OK?”

There was a long pause.

“I don’t know, MacGyver.” When Zia spoke again, her voice was very small. “He’s... I can’t... Can I meet you somewhere?”

“Sure. Where are you?” There was a sigh on the other end of the line and MacGyver frowned.

“South Central. How about Gino’s? Do you know where that is?”

“I’ll find it. Meet me there in half an hour, OK?”

MacGyver put the receiver down and stood staring at it. He hadn’t heard from Zia and Ahmed in a long time. They’d stayed in touch after he’d helped them to escape from Afghanistan and start a new life here in America. Ahmed was a bright boy and a hard worker, even if he’d had a lot of catching up to do – he hadn’t been to school before and the American school system had come as a bit of a shock to him. Zia had found work and last time he’d spoken to them, they’d seemed to be doing well. But then he’d had a run of assignments abroad, they’d both moved house and, as often happens, they’d lost touch. MacGyver frowned, adding up the time that had passed. Ahmed must be almost grown up now, he’d looked about ten when they first met, which would make him nineteen or thereabouts now. MacGyver combed his hair with his fingers, picked up his jacket and headed out.

Driving through the dusk, MacGyver’s thoughts turned to the first time they’d met. He’d still been working for DXS then, on assignment to recover a fallen satellite from behind enemy lines. He’d found the satellite and recovered the data when a group of local bounty hunters had caught up with him. They’d shot down his makeshift hang glider, and him in the process, he’d crash landed in a stream, breaking the glider and his arm with it. He’d been dazed and bleeding when Ahmed had found him; the kid had taken a huge chance in rescuing him and Zia had taken another in allowing him to hide in her house while he recovered. He’d been delirious, and even now the only things he remembered from those first few days were pain and, the smell of jasmine flowers. MacGyver was sure he’d have succumbed to infection or blood loss without their help. He owed them his life.

He slowed, scanning the dingy shop fronts. He pulled in to the kerb outside a run-down cafe, half a dozen dented tables reflecting pink from the fly-specked neon sign above. Two elderly Hispanic men in undershirts and trousers shiny with grease watched him over the rims of their cups. MacGyver nodded to them and opened the door. The cafe smelled of cooking oil and over-boiled coffee, warm and bitter. Zia sat at a corner table, headscarf pulled up over her long hair. She looked up as MacGyver’s shadow fell across her table, smiling and holding out her hands to him. He slid into the booth opposite her, took her hands and kissed her on the cheek. Beautiful, but thinner than he remembered, with dark shadows under her eyes.

“Hey,”

“I’m so glad you came, MacGyver, I didn’t know what to do.” Zia tightened her grip on his hands, pressing her lips together and looking down.

“What’s happened, Zia? What’s wrong?”

She took a shaky breath and opened her mouth to speak. Struggling, she shook her head and sighed.

“I’m not sure where to start. Ahmed’s always been such a good boy, always helpful, always hardworking. Coming here was a dream come true for him – a new start where he’d have chances I could never have given him at home. And at first it was so good.”

MacGyver nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“But it’s hard, starting again in a new place. Not everyone is pleased to see foreigners and we soon learned not to tell people where we are from. I lost my job, we had to move and we didn’t have enough money. Ahmed understands, he knows I’m doing my best and he doesn’t blame me for things being difficult, but it’s hard for him to see his friends have everything when he doesn’t. Especially when I tell him that they only have more because they’re willing to do bad things to get the money.”

MacGyver frowned. He had a nasty feeling that he knew where this story was going.
“Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped and –“

“No.” Zia cut him off sharply, a challenge in her eyes. “You gave us this chance. It’s up to us to make it work now.”

MacGyver sat back. Pride and wanting to manage everything by yourself were things he understood well. Asking for help was something he found incredibly difficult too.

“But you called me today, which means there’s something you want me to help with. What’s Ahmed got himself into, Zia? What do you need me to do?”

Zia slid her hands out of MacGyver’s grip. She folded them around her coffee cup and stared down, as if she might see the answers in the murky liquid.

“Ahmed has a new group of friends,” she said hesitantly, “They’re different from his school friends. They’re... wild. He sees that they have cars and money and that people are afraid of them, that they are powerful, and he wants that for himself. For us. He wants us to have a better place to live, and a car, and for people not to look down on us. But I know how they earn this money, MacGyver – they sell drugs and hurt people.” Zia looked up, her eyes haunted. “Ahmed says that he knows it’s wrong, but that there isn’t another way to get what we need. I think he has become part of this gang, even though I’ve begged him not to.” A single tear rolled down her cheek, she brushed it away with the end of her scarf, her eyes red.

“You want me to talk to him?”

“He looks up to you. He listens to you.” Zia nodded. “He might take your advice where he doesn’t take mine.” She reached across the table and took MacGyver’s hand again, her fingers warm from the cup. “It’s good to see you again, MacGyver. It’s been a long time.”

“Too long.” MacGyver smiled back at her. “Of course I’ll talk to him.”

“Thank you.” Zia rose and looked at him for a long moment before leaning down to kiss him on the cheek. She walked out of the cafe and MacGyver turned to see her disappear around the corner. He shook his head. Zia was a friend in trouble, nothing more. Whatever connection they’d had before was long past.

But when she’d bent to kiss him, her hair had smelled of jasmine.

* * * *

MacGyver pulled into the police station car park, gathered his gear from the back of the jeep and went inside.

“What time do you call this?!” Kate frowned at him from behind her desk.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry. Morning, detective...” MacGyver set his boxes down, pushed his sunglasses up onto his head and fished a mangled object out of a box. “One of the cameras got damaged last night and it took a bit of recovering.”

He laid the pieces on her desk and Kate picked one up, running her thumb over a cut edge.

“Damaged! Sliced in half, more like!” She picked up the other piece, fitting them together. “Where did you find it?”

“That half was nailed to the top of a dumpster, this half was inside the transformer can we’d fastened it next to. At least now we know what caused the power outage down there last night.” MacGyver fed a disk into the computer slot and waited for it to boot up. “These guys aren’t playing around, I think we need to be more careful next time.”

“No kidding.” Kate set aside the ruined camera and turned to her own computer. “We did get some good shots from the other ones though. We should be able to bust some of these scum for possession and dealing now. Here, have a look.” She turned the monitor and pressed a button.

The picture cleared, revealing a group of three young men. Two wore long coats, one had his hood pulled up and one had been snapped handing a small package over to the third. MacGyver reached past Kate to zoom in on the hooded youth’s face. Line by line, the grainy image resolved and a familiar face looked back at him.

Ahmed.