The room was empty – at least it appeared that way on first glance. As Sam looked around, he spotted the double wooden doors they’d come looking for that led to the outside. Under the doors, in a corner that made the muted light seem ineffectual, was a skeleton.

MacGyver took careful steps up to the body and winced. “Looks like we found our first booby trap after all.” He moved past the skeleton and tested the two cellar doors, but they’d been secured from the outside at some point.

Sam joined him and scrutinized the ambush scene. There was a shotgun hanging from the ceiling that had been jury-rigged to fire if anyone came in this way. It was spent out now, and by the looks of the corpse, had been for many years. “How long you figure he’s been dead?”

Mac licked his lips and refocused on the bones. “I’d say from what’s left of his clothes since the fifties.”

Sam nodded and turned to look back at the footprints they’d spotted. They were fresh, definitely not left by this poor soul.

And there was something else, too. The footprints vanished at the bottom of the cellar stairs. “Dad, where’d the footprints go?” He nodded to the marks on the floor, and how they petered out.

Mac moved to the prints and hunkered down, testing the dust with his fingertips. “This reminds me of the Parker house. There could be a secret door or passage down here.”

Sam blinked. He had no clue what the Parker house was, or how it connected to the cellar they were now stood in. What he did know, was that Bobbi Albini was supposed to have hidden an expensive necklace here, and that necklaces tended to be stored in bedrooms.

“Can we just go upstairs and look for “Angelina’s Grace?” Surely it’s gonna be in a bedroom, if it actually exists?” Sam was anxious to find something tangible, something he could relate to.

“Sam, there could be more traps. Albini was no fool. He knew exactly where people would look if they came in here. If he has shotgun snares in the basement, what’s he gonna have waiting upstairs?” MacGyver stood and brushed his dusty hands on his jacket. “Not to mention, we’re not here to find some urban treasure, we’re here to find a killer.”

Sam wasn’t deterred. He was on a roll, he could feel it. “Yeah, but the killer is probably after the necklace anyway, so upstairs is still the best place to start – and seeing as we can’t exactly get out right now anyway…” He glanced back at the double doors.

Exactly who secured them after the dead guy got in? Maybe the person who just locked the main door on us?

MacGyver seemed to think about it and then nodded, and the pair retraced their steps back into the main entrance. It seemed darker to Sam now, but he convinced himself it was his imagination playing tricks.

There was a light switch for the main chandelier, and Sam couldn’t help but flick it on.

Taking point as they moved upstairs, Sam switched on his flashlight again for extra light, rubbing absently at the back of his neck as he moved. This was creepier than he’d expected. He took a long breath and paused at the top, waiting for his dad to join him.

MacGyver had been more cautious on his ascent, stopping every other stair to look for trip wires, triggers, or anything else unusual.

As he finally moved next to Sam on the huge landing area outside the main bedroom, the chandelier popped, flickered and then died, plunging them into semi-darkness.

“Oh boy,” Sam hissed through gritted teeth. “One of Albini’s traps, or our friendly neighborhood killer having some fun?” Without waiting for an answer, he swung his light around to the master bedroom door and ploughed inside, oblivious of any further danger.

MacGyver had little choice but to follow, spinning his own light to and fro like a search lantern.

Inside the chamber was sparser than Sam had expected. In the center was an ancient four-poster bed, and beside it a dressing table to match. To the left of the bed was another door, and Sam made his way over to it, pushing it gently open with his free hand.

“Sam, wait!” The tone of Mac’s voice was chiding, but wasted.

Sam carried on into the inner chamber, playing his light around the walls and floor.

“There’s no windows, no nothing,” MacGyver observed as he slipped in beside his son. “It’s like standing in a small empty box.”

“Empty box with another table,” Sam corrected, moving his light to show a second piece of furniture. “And I think I saw something over on the far wall too.”

Mac let his own flashlight play across the scene until it came across something metal with a small dial in the center. “It’s a safe. An old one, too.”

Without thinking about more traps, Sam jogged over to the safe and tried the door, expecting it to be locked.

It wasn’t.

Excitement built in his stomach and his palms were suddenly sweaty. He swung open the metal hatch and swallowed.

“Sam, NO! There might be…”

Sam didn’t even hear. He’d become transfixed by a small velvet-covered jewelry case that screamed for him to open it.

Delving inside the safe despite his dad’s words of caution, Sam plucked out the box and sucked down a breath. Was “Angelina’s Grace” inside? He flipped the sprung lid and held his breath.

And behind him, a huge metal plate slammed down over the only door in or out of the room.

“That’s just swell! We’re trapped!” MacGyver didn’t sound happy, and quickly began inspecting the plating.

Sam ignored him. The case in his palm didn’t hold the elusive necklace, but there was something inside. It was an age-tanned note, written by an extremely neat hand in real ink, not biro.

Angelina’s Grace, not an item, but a place!

As ye sow, so shall ye reap, Donati

Thinking of You

Bobbi

“Dad, can you take a look at this?” Sam waved the note at his father to catch his attention.

MacGyver seemed reluctant to stop his escape attempts to view an ancient piece of paper, but he eventually sauntered over. His reproving expression told Sam his dad wasn’t happy with how he’d handled things.

Doesn’t he know if you tell a kid not to do something, they always do it? Sam internally excused himself.

Mac took the note from Sam’s hand and read it aloud.

Sam watched his dad’s face change from judgmental to worried, as the words came out. “What does it mean?” He almost dare not ask.

MacGyver tapped the edge of the message with his forefinger. “Well I guess for starters it means the traps were definitely for Carl Donati, the guy who put the hit on Angelina. Bobbi must’ve thought he’d be the one to try and get in this place for some reason.”

“And the biblical sounding part?” Sam winced. He knew this wasn’t going to be anything good.

Mac thought about it. “I’m thinking “As ye sow, so shall ye reap” probably means Carl was going to get a dose of his own medicine.” H sighed looking around the sealed room. “Just trapping Donati here wouldn’t do that now, would it? Not when Angelina was blown to pieces…”

Sam gulped. In his haste to solve the riddle, he really hadn’t been thinking before he acted. It was a trait of his father’s that sorely needed to rub off on him. “You think this room has another surprise besides the metal door?” He dared to ask.
Mac didn’t reply, he simply started to search the room with his flashlight. Within seconds, the beam had locked on to something underneath the lone central table.

MacGyver moved to it, dropping to his knees to examine the device.

It was a small, dust-covered metal box with an old-style alarm wired into it.

And the alarm was ticking.

Sam slid down onto his knees at his dad’s side, and while Mac settled his own light down on the floor to focus on the bomb, Sam kept his illuminating the scene.

“Can you disarm it?” Sam questioned, just a hint of fear in his voice.

Mac licked his lips, his eyes intensely staring at the device. “I sure hope so or we’ve had one heck of a short family reunion.” Without saying more, he took out his penknife and eased the lid off the box.

Inside was a multitude of wires, and a block of explosives. To Sam, it looked so old it could have belonged to Methuselah. “C4?” His voice cracked.

MacGyver shook his head. “I think it’s C3 – much older than C4 – and it has a tendency to go brittle and ineffective. If we’re lucky.” He took his blade and began slicing through wires without having to think twice.

Sam watched, suddenly awestruck at how his father was handling a bomb. Of course, he knew Mac had been doing this for years after his training in the military, but the sheer lack of nerves amazed him.

Mac tugged out a coiled spring and sat back, puffing out a relieved breath. “I wish they were all that easy.”

A buzzing sound erupted from somewhere else in the room, and then the ticking noise began again, like a mad metronome on steroids.

“Easy?” Sam sputtered. “Are you sure?”

MacGyver scrambled to his feet and stood a moment listening. “It’s coming from the safe!” He grabbed his light and rushed over to the open safe door, shining the light inside. “The back panel is false,” he explained as he used his knife blade to pry at it.

The panel popped off to reveal a second device, somewhat smaller than the first. This time, though, the timer had only been set for mere seconds.

Mac saw the finger click to zero and tried to turn away from the blast, but it was too late.

The room was abruptly filled with white light and a huge backdraft as the bomb exploded.

Sam watched in horror as his dad was tossed backwards by the force of the detonation, hitting the far wall hard.

And then the light from the blast was gone, and Sam realized he’d dropped his flashlight. The darkness at once seemed all consuming, and he suddenly felt even more alone than he had when his mom had died.

“Dad!”

There was no reply, and Sam couldn’t help but panic. It was as if the roles on Flight 4177 had rudely been reversed, and now Sam faced the prospect of losing his father so soon after they’d found one another.

“Dad!” Sam dropped to the floor in the gloom, his hands frantically searching for the light he’d lost. What he found was something unexpected, and even more worrying.

The floor was awash with water. In fact, not just awash, it was a few inches deep already. Whatever the bomb had done, it had also severed a water pipe somewhere, intentionally or not. And as the room was pretty much sealed, that water was now growing faster than it could drain.

Sam groped some more, his fingers finally touching something cold and hard. He grabbed the light, flicked the switch, and was thankful when the beam came back on. He’d had no idea whether the flashlight was waterproof or not – but then it was MacGyver’s, and Mac thought of everything.

Almost…

Sam spun the light in an arc, splashing in the water around him until he finally saw his father’s motionless form by the opposite wall. He was face down in the water.

No!

Sam barreled across, ignoring the rising tide around him to roll Mac over.

“Ouch…” MacGyver slurred out a groan and then his eyes flickered open to stare back up at Sam. “Okay, maybe it wasn’t so easy…” he grumbled, half-consciously.

Sam closed his eyes, took down a calming breath and then checked his dad over as best he could. Mac’s right hand had been nearest the safe when the bomb had gone off, and had the explosives not been old, he would probably have lost it.

Right now, Sam was no doctor, but he guessed his dad’s hand had some broken bones along with lots of cuts and bruises. Given he’d been out cold a few seconds; he probably had a concussion too.

“Jeez, you had me worried,” he confessed as he tried to prop his dad higher away from the water.

Mac inhaled and then gritted his teeth as he looked groggily at his hand. “I had me worried.” He glanced down at the swelling river around them and cocked a brow. “Did I miss something?”

Sam waded across to the hole in the wall where the safe had been and inspected the damage for the first time. The force of the explosion had mostly gone inwards, and for MacGyver, that had been very lucky. Not so lucky, though, when it had taken out the main water pipe to the upper storey.

“Did, I um, mention I think we’re about to drown?” As he talked, Sam stretched an arm inside the blast hole, but he couldn’t reach the damaged pipe, let alone do anything to staunch the flow of water.

He glanced down, realizing that the level had now risen to his waist.

Mac blearily splashed across to his son’s side and took a look, then shook his head. “The rate that’s coming in here, I’d say we have just a few minutes to think of something.” He peered down at his swelled and shattered hand and bit into his lip. “And I don’t think I’m going to be much help.”

Sam’s panicked expression suggested he wasn’t quite ready for that responsibility. “To do what?” He asked, his voice raising an octave.

MacGyver rubbed at his brow with his left hand like he was thinking, and then stared at the table that was now almost submerged. “We need to get that metal door outta the way, right?” He refocused on the huge plate that had barred their exit.

Sam nodded. He had no idea what his dad was considering, but he’d go along with it anyway. “Yeah, but how?”

Mac swallowed as if Sam wasn’t going to like what came next. “We blow it outta the way with the bomb I defused that’s attached to the table.”

“We what?”

“Sam, we’re gonna drown if we don’t get out. That door is the only exit.” MacGyver waded to the table and began taking another look at the device.

Sam joined him, his face pale and very scared. His dad might be okay around bombs, but he wasn’t fond of them.

Eventually, Mac looked up and put his good hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You’re gonna have to do this. I can’t.” He looked down at his hand and winced as he tried to move it.

Sam nodded. He could do this.

“Okay, you need to remove about two-thirds of the C3.” Mac handed Sam his Swiss knife to work with. “That should leave enough explosive to take out the door without killing us.”

Sam took the blade and started to work, his soaked hands shaking so hard he was worried he might blow them both to pieces before he’d even finished.

Once the C3 had been cut down, he glanced back up. “Now what?”

Mac wavered a little, carefully holding his damaged hand up over his left shoulder. “Wedge the table in front of the metal plate over the door, and then pray the camera I bought you is as waterproof as the salesman promised.”

Sam looked confused, but he carried on working, ever aware of the water level. “Huh? What about my camera?”

Mac smiled. “Well not exactly the camera, but the electronic flash.” He pointed to the lead. “Unplug that end and press it into the C3 as best you can.” Trust me, I’ve done this before.”

Sam didn’t doubt his dad, but he didn’t trust the aging explosives they were dealing with. Nevertheless, he did as he was instructed, looking up expectantly after poking the connector into the plastic.

Mac took a look around, shook his head and then gestured to a spot to the left of the metal barrier. “We can’t move far from the door because of the length of the lead, and there’s not exactly anything to take cover behind, anyway.”

Sam slipped into position where he’d been shown and tried to hold the camera and its accessories above the water. MacGyver slid in beside him.

Sam let out a deep breath and realized he was mimicking a habit of his dad’s. “What do I do?” He eventually dared to ask.

Mac raised a bemused brow. “Take a picture, what else?”

Sam pressed down on the button before he could change his mind, and the room was once again filled with a brilliant white light as the C3 detonated. The blast was centered perfectly and the metal plate was sent hurting outwards, taking the wooden door behind it along for the ride.

The trapped water burst from the opening like a tsunami, and Mac and Sam were sucked out with it, coming to rest back in the main bedroom in a crumpled heap of wet limbs.

MacGyver groaned and pulled himself up into a sitting position. “Now I know why I never took up surfing,” he joked, cradling his hand.

Sam stood first, brushing water from his jacket and jeans just enough so that he wasn’t actually dripping. When he was sure MacGyver was up to joining him, he held out a hand and tugged his dad to his feet.

“We need to find a way out of here. You need your head and that hand taking care of.” Sam couldn’t help but stare with concern at the bump that had come up on the side of his dad’s head, not to mention Mac’s swollen fingers. If only he hadn’t been so hasty going into that safe. This whole mess is my fault!

MacGyver brushed it off. “I’ll live. Believe me, I’ve had worse.” He turned and glanced at the mess behind them before picking up a flashlight that had been washed out onto the landing. He passed it to Sam with his good hand. “Ya know the murderer could still be here…”

Sam took the light and winced at the thought. “At least let me fix you up a little…” He slipped off his belt to make an impromptu sling, taking care to ensure Mac’s hand was held tight to his left shoulder.

As Sam finished up, there was a click behind them like a gun being cocked, and both men spun around instinctively.

The beam from Sam’s flashlight picked up the pale face of a girl, and she was pointing a revolver at them.

“Andy?” Sam’s voice betrayed his disappointment and anger. He’d really liked Andy from the instant he’d met her back at the library, and now somehow he felt so deceived – so dumb for falling for her act. Did I really give her my number?

Andy didn’t answer. She was shaking hard, and tiny droplets of sweat dripped from her brow as the gun swayed in her hands. “I need the necklace,” she demanded. “Just give it to me.”

Sam took a step forwards. “We don’t have it,” he answered honestly. “In fact, there isn’t a necklace…”

“There has to be!” Andy gripped the gun harder until her knuckles were white. She seemed agitated, maybe even scared. The barrel quivered along with her hands.

“Where did you get the gun?” MacGyver didn’t move, but his eyes followed every movement of the revolver as it shuddered in the girl’s grasp. “Did you get it from the bedroom?”

Andy’s panicked gaze panned to the bedroom door and back but she didn’t answer.

Mac held out his good hand slowly and deliberately. “Listen to me, whatever you do, don’t fire that thing…”

Sam couldn’t believe his ears. What was his dad thinking?

Right now, what did it matter where she’d got the gun from? She was supposed to be a friend, and she was pointing the dang thing at them.

Sam took another step forwards – heck, Andy was shaking so bad she probably couldn’t hit a target if it jumped up in front of her.

It was a stupid move, and one he would sorely regret later.

In what appeared to be blind terror and confusion, Andy’s forefinger mechanically pulled back on the trigger and the revolver erupted. Instead of sending a slug straight into Sam’s chest, however, the barrel exploded in a bright flash, gunpowder igniting and metal disintegrating into a myriad of tiny sharp shards.

Sam watched in abstract horror as the gun’s barrel burst in Andy’s hand sending her reeling backwards. As she tumbled out the doorway onto the landing, she almost toppled down the huge wooden staircase.

MacGyver was first after the girl, despite his injuries. He dropped to his knees, his expression suggesting he felt useless with only one hand.

He felt for a pulse and Sam joined him on the landing, looking dazed and bewildered. “Why, Dad?” He bemoaned. “Why would she kill Rob and attack Doc?” He shook his head in despair. “Greed over the necklace?”

Mac was silent at first. He was too busy trying to help the girl to answer questions.

The bullet fragments had torn into her chest and she was bleeding badly. He pressed his good hand over the largest wound.

“Sam,” Mac finally responded. “Andy hasn’t hurt or killed anyone.” He looked down at the damage the gun had caused. “…except maybe herself.”

Sam opened his mouth but couldn’t find any words. None of it made any sense.

If Andy wasn’t the killer, then what the heck had just happened?

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