The elder man had pulled a .38 revolver from his holster and ducked behind a pallet containing a huge smoke machine. His partner had made a dive to the left, fired off two shots from his own weapon, and then darted for the sound stage’s open door.

Mitchell attempted to follow him, using the Beretta he’d shot MacGyver with to empty a clip at the man. Despite his usually accurate marksmanship, he managed to miss his target, the slugs slamming into set dressing harmlessly.

At the door, the buyer turned and returned several shots of his own, giving his boss enough cover to join him.

For once, the Bodens were being outsmarted, and outgunned by the people they’d planned to dupe.

Marcus jumped into the cab of the Ford and pulled out the powerful sniper rifle he kept stowed behind his seat, but before he could get a shot off, the two buyers had vanished out into the open back lot of Fairmont.

If they followed, they risked being exposed.

“Let them go,” Marcus finally barked. “We still have the guns and their gold, and we’ll be long gone from here before they can do squat about it.”

Mitchell seemed to growl under his breath at having to give in to anyone, but he flicked on his safety and tucked the automatic in his belt.

“Just what the hell happened anyway?” Marcus was scowling as he looked at the mayhem around him, including MacGyver’s bloodied body. “You were supposed to get him to kill them, not you kill him.” Boden nudged Mac’s outstretched hand with the toe of his boot.

“He wasn’t buying it,” Mitchell huffed. “I tried to take him out before he spooked those guys.”

Marcus wasn’t convinced. “Well you failed, miserably.” He sounded annoyed, but then his face cracked into a grin and he patted one of the security trucks. “Still, General Follett will be more than happy to know we have the goods and the gold.”

“And what about him?” Mitchell pointed to where Mac still lay. “We can’t just leave his body here, can we?”

Marcus thought about it a moment and then jerked a thumb to one of the boxes that had been busted open during the firefight. It contained large Hessian sacks. “Put his body in one of those things and stow it in the truck you take. Once we get on Follett’s boat and are out to sea, we can dump it overboard.”

Mitchell looked uneasy about the idea. His gaze scoured the floor as if he wanted to say something, but couldn’t look his brother in the eye to do it.

Marcus noted his brother’s nervous manner and shook his head. “Now what?”

“So we’re just supposed to take the gold to Follett, get on his boat and sale away, happy ever after? I don’t like it, Marcus…it feels wrong…” Mitchell finally looked at his brother.

“Stop thinking so much and just get MacGyver’s body put away, will you?” Marcus cut off any further thought of conversation by simply walking away to collect the keys to both trucks.

Mitchell watched him go, his face a mask of apprehension. When Marcus vanished into the security booth, he finally moved and grabbed one of the rough sacks littering the ground.

Walking over to Mac’s body, he stared a moment, pondering how to lift the dead weight into the bag. Eventually, he grabbed MacGyver’s boots, stuffed them in the opening to the sack, and then forcibly rammed the remainder of the lifeless corpse inside.

By the time he’d finished, Mitch was sweating hard. He moped at his brow with his sleeve, tied the top of the sack, and then brusquely dragged his kill into the nearest truck.

As he reached the rear door, he heard a whistle, and looked up to see Marcus dangling keys in his hand.

Marcus tossed them, and it was all his little brother could do to catch them as they bounced off the rear of the truck.

Mitchell cursed, dragged the body inside, and then clambered behind the wheel, glad to have finally finished his task.

It was one thing to kill someone, but he really, really hated the follow up work.

* * * *

An hour after leaving Fairmount, Mitch Boden finally pulled his security truck up at the quayside where they were supposed to meet Follett. Behind, he heard the engine of the second security vehicle and knew his brother had also arrived.

He waited, knowing Marcus would be the one to do the talking with Follett. Marcus was always in charge when it came down to big money.

A metal door slammed, and two seconds later Marcus sauntered past and headed towards a schooner that was the nearest moored vessel.

Mitch exited his cab and followed closely behind, examining the ship they were supposed to escape on as he walked.

If what he’d been told was true, General Follett had hired the schooner and they’d all be leaving the country on it. That was the part Mitchell had trouble swallowing.

Follett wasn’t their kind – not at all. He wouldn’t want to be at sea with what he considered low life, would he? Not even if said low lives were making him rich.

But every time Mitch broached the subject with his brother, Marcus got all defensive.

“Where have you been? You’re late!”

Mitchell looked up to see a middle-aged man in civilian clothes grouching at Marcus. It was Follett, and he was already out of uniform and apparently enjoying the good life at their expense.

Marcus ignored the General’s griping and spat chewing tobacco on the floor in front of Follett’s designer shoes. “We’re here now, and we have the gold. You better get your people stowing it on board real fast, though. Things didn’t go down quite the way we planned.”

Follett peered down at his shoes and looked relieved when he realized Marcus had missed them with his little projectile. He sniffed haughtily and then gestured to several men standing nearby to begin moving the trucks’ payloads.

“Should I expect trouble?” Follett eventually grumbled, as if he were drilling a platoon.

Marcus shrugged and peered back at the truck Mitch had driven. “Things got messy at the studios. We had to kill our inside man.”

Follett groaned. “We were supposed to keep him alive until the guns were moved out to open the damn studio gates. This will complicate things.” He watched as his people moved trolleys with their loot on towards the schooner. One trolley held a large canvas sack. “And what is that?” He demanded.

Marcus chuckled. “Why, that’s the inside man. Or what’s left of him after my bro filled him full of lead.”

“You’re taking a body, on my schooner?” The general sounded incredulous.

Marcus apparently found the situation more and more amusing. “No sir, I’m tossing a body off your schooner. Or at least I will be, when we get out to sea.”

The news seemed to placate Follett somewhat and he returned to watching the men moving the gold into the hold of the ship. His eyes remained glued to each small trolley as they were rolled back and forth, his brain seemingly counting how rich he was becoming.

After an hour or so, the work was complete, and Follett paid off his small workforce with a wad of cash for each – all in hundred dollar bills.

Mitch observed the deal from the bow of the schooner, wishing Follett had had the sense to “remove” the workers afterwards rather than pay them. Dead they could do no harm, but simply paid off, they could do real damage.

Follett seemed oblivious and began casting off from the quay as if he were simply going on vacation.

Mitch stared back at the coast as the schooner got under way suddenly wishing he wasn’t leaving the country of his birth forever. Money was one thing, but was it worth losing everything else for?

The sound of the boat’s engines drowned out any further thoughts as Follett increased power now that they were out of the harbor. It was much simpler than trying to sail the schooner with only one man on board that had any experience.

Mitch grunted and headed below deck in search of anything he could find alcoholic. After the day’s events, he needed a drink badly.

* * * *

The schooner had been heading out to sea for what Mitch Boden guessed was about an hour when the engines abruptly stopped. He let his eyes lock with his brother’s and they both hastily climbed the wooden steps up to the main deck.

Follett was dropping anchor as they emerged, and nodded to them his face almost unreadable.

“Something wrong?” Marcus raised a brow and was already scanning the open ocean as he spoke.

Follett shook his head and pointed to the canvas bag that sat innocently next to the wheel. “I thought it was time our passenger disembarked. You two care to do the honors?”

Marcus wavered, the scotch he’d been downing going to his head in the cool sea breeze. He grabbed at the rail to his left, steadied himself and then swallowed. “I guess we can do that…”

“I’ll take care of it.” Mitch carefully pushed past his teetering sibling, and rolled his eyes skywards in mock disdain. “You’re in no fit state…”

Marcus hiccupped and raised a hand to argue, but then almost lost his balance. He reaffirmed his grip on the railing until his knuckles lost all color, and decided to watch his brother do all the work.

Mitch grabbed the sack containing MacGyver and huffed when he remembered how heavy a dead body really was. With a groan, he yanked the bag to the edge of the deck, and then used his boot to push it over.

The sack splashed into the rolling waves and instantly began to sink.

Mitch turned to grin at Marcus, but his smile dissolved instantly as he found himself staring down the barrel of an automatic.

Follett kept enough distance between himself and both the Bodens – he was no fool – he was trained to kill, after all. “You know, you were really never part of my retirement plan.”

“Stop fooling around and put that thing away!” Marcus somehow seemed to think the threat was a joke in his stupefied state.

Follett showed him otherwise.

With one jerk of the trigger, Follett sent the drunken gun runner flailing into the ocean with a huge hole in his chest. He turned, almost robotically and fired again at Mitchell.

Boden dived for the deck, using the split second of warning he’d had to try and miss a slug.

The move only half-worked and a bullet slammed into his left ankle, obliterating the bone there.

He screamed in agony and reflexively clutched at the wound instead of trying to get away. The mistake earned him another bullet, this time to the skull.

Mitch slumped backwards, his ankle forgotten as his brain was turned to pulp.

Follett remained emotionless as he slipped the gun into an ankle holster and then hoisted the body overboard.

There had never been any question that he would share his good fortune, and now he didn’t have to.

Mitch began to sink the moment his lifeless form hit the water. His arms and legs floated outwards and tiny bubbles of air ebbed from the corner of his mouth as he sank deeper.

Just below him, the Hessian sack was sinking too, but it was far from lifeless.

Something inside wriggled, and at the corner of the bag, the blade of a pocket knife worked frantically to free its owner.

Seconds ticked by, and the bag finally succumbed to strength and willpower as well as the cutting edge that tore at it.

MacGyver broke free from his watery tomb and kicked hard for the surface before the air in his lungs gave out.

He could see the underside of the schooner looming through the gloom of the ocean and headed for its mass, swimming hard until he finally broke through the waves and gulped down air until it burned.

The schooner was still anchored, and after regaining his breath, and his composure, he headed for it, careful that no one on deck could see or hear his approach. He’d spotted the Bodens sinking bodies on his way to the surface, so he knew that probably only left Follett onboard.

That had evened up the odds in his favor.

A small rope ladder hung from the aft of the boat, and Mac dared to use it to clamber back on deck. He slid behind the edge of the rear cabin and ran a hand through his soaked hair in thought.

The motion caused the muscles in his back to spasm and pain spiked down his spine.

Mac grimaced, remembering all-too well the slugs that had slammed into him earlier.

Tugging off his waterlogged security jacket, he smiled at what lay beneath.

The Kevlar vest he’d “borrowed” from the studio armory had undoubtedly saved his life, but now it was wet, cumbersome and extremely uncomfortable. He quickly removed it, marveling at the squashed bullets that were still wedged in it beneath the fake blood he’d gotten from the makeup department.

Thank heavens it wasn’t just a prop too, his mind gratefully offered as he dropped the vest to the deck. Now I just have to stop Follett before he gets any ideas about putting any more holes in me…

Mac licked his lips and moved forwards until he was peeping around the edge of the cabin, his back forced firmly against the varnished wood.

Follett was right where he’d shot Mitch Boden, cleaning the deck planks furiously as if he didn’t want blood staining his precious boat.

MacGyver winced at the man’s tactless, unfeeling attitude. But then, a man who could sell guns to anyone with the right cash had no conscience anyway.

Follett suddenly stood up from his work as if he’d heard or sensed MacGyver’s thoughts, and spun around so fast he caught Mac completely off guard.

The general’s eyes widened as he spotted the interloper on his deck, and he immediately retrieved his gun from its holster.

Mac looked longingly at the cabin door that lay ajar right next to him, but there was no way he’d make it below now without taking a bullet.

He raised his hands slowly, his pupils expanding just a touch at the sight of the barrel now aimed at his chest.

Why the heck did I take that vest off? He mentally chided.

Follett moved forwards, tossing down the brush he’d been scrubbing at the wood with in favor of his new target. “You’re the guard from Fairmount right? The Bodens told me all about you, right down to your scruffy hair and beard.”

Mac shrugged. “You mean this isn’t all the rage?” He quipped, rubbing at his beard with his right hand. “And here I was thinking I was making a fashion statement…”

Anger filled Follett’s beady eyes, but he didn’t waver. “The story you told Marcus and Mitchell, that was just a cover wasn’t it? Who do you really work for?”

“I didn’t tell the Bodens a story at all. They came up with that all on their own.” Mac edged backwards just a touch, but it didn’t go unnoticed.

Follett took a step forwards to compensate. “You know what I think, MacGyver?” He drawled. “I think you really don’t like guns, just as your Phoenix profile suggested. I’ve served my country long enough to know a coward when I see one.”

Follett pulled an extra weapon from his waistband, and Mac guessed it was one the Bodens had dropped during the fight earlier.

The general tossed the weapon onto the deck and then kicked it the extra distance until it stopped in front of MacGyver. “Pick it up.”

Mac swallowed hard, but didn’t move. This was one of the kill or be killed moments he’d suspected might happen if he took this assignment, and unlike back at the sound stage, he couldn’t see a way out. There were no boxes to dive into here.

Follett’s expression warped into a sneer. “I said pick it up!” His long fingers grasped the automatic’s grip just that bit tighter as he anticipated what would, or rather wouldn’t come next. “If you don’t defend yourself, I’ll shoot you dead where you stand.”

“And get more blood on that nice shiny deck?” MacGyver couldn’t help the sarcasm. It was a mechanism he often used to chide his enemies and knock them off kilter why he came up with a plan.

But that wasn’t why he’d said it to Follett. No, Follett was one of the few people he truly despised. A man who wore a uniform suggesting he would defend his country and its people – would die for them if it was asked of him – and yet Follett was the opposite of everything he was supposed to uphold.

“You’re a coward,” Follett continued his tirade as if he’d never heard the derisory comment. “I hate men like you, who think you can win without using the right tools.” He nodded towards the gun on the deck, and his finger tickled the trigger of his own weapon, eager to pull back just that little bit further.

MacGyver watched Follett’s nervous finger move and knew time was running out. The general meant every word he was saying, and any second now, he would fire his gun if Mac didn’t take a dive for the one on the floor.

There was no way out.

MacGyver could stand and do nothing and die, or he could try and retrieve the other gun, and most probably die.

If he actually got the gun off the deck without taking a bullet first, then what?

Could he really shoot Follett to save his own life?

Mac closed his eyes, took a long calming breath and then finally made his choice.

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