MacGyver kept eye contact with the stranger. The man was unwavering, and given his choice of weapon, Mac guessed he was either a mercenary, or British Special Forces. Given his accent, the latter seemed most likely.

The question now, was could it be a coincidence he was here, or was his presence connected to the downed F16?

Mac licked his lips and made his choice, deciding that the situation deserved the truth, for better or worse. “I’m here shall we say, off the record, searching for a U.S. pilot…”

The gun still remained stoically in position. “That’s impossible, mate, Peter Kaminski doesn’t exist – the name, and the downing of the F16 was simply a cover to get me into Bosnia. I’m with British Intelligence, and I’m here to gather information to give N.A.T.O. more leverage to launch bigger operations in the area. Which puts you in a very tricky spot, I’d say. So, you know who I am, what say you show and tell who you are before I decide to put a bullet in you?”

MacGyver slowly lowered his arms, even though the other man hadn’t given him permission. Showing intimidation now was not going to get him anywhere. He worked for the DXS long enough to know how these people were trained.

“I work for a think tank called the Phoenix Foundation. Couple of days ago a U.S.A.F. general named Harpham approached us about the F16 going down, and about the loss of Pete Kaminski. He said the authorities wouldn’t get the pilot out, and asked us, specifically me, to come on in and save the day. He said Kaminski had trained with his son, which kinda goes against your story…”

The Brit finally let the Sig Sauer drop into his lap, and he reflexively flicked on the safety. His expression said he was still wary, but then that was part of his training too. “I’m Paul Watkins, employee of her Majesty’s Secret Service, and you’ve just walked into one bloody big mess up, Mister MacGyver…”

Mac shook his head and finally dared to walk up to Watkins. The man wasn’t all that tall, but he certainly had presence. “Look, I’m in the dark here? Care to fill me in?”

Watkins pushed the papers he’d been reading to one side and looked up at the ceiling, apparently deciding just what to say. “Someone on the inside – probably your General Harpham is obviously working with the Serbs. He must have known about my mission and he’s used you, and your Phoenix Foundation to search me out for the enemy.”

Mac wasn’t so sure. He ran a hand through his mullet and spun around, thinking hard. “That doesn’t make sense, why would a U.S. general help the Serbs? It’s not like they have millions to offer him?”

Watkins pushed up from the floor and stuffed the Sig in his belt. “How the hell should I know? What I do know is that the Serbs are probably right on your tail. Let me guess, I bet Harpham’s people supplied your gear? Well you better search it fast for a tracking device.”

MacGyver’s brow furrowed. Harpham’s people had supplied his gear, which was pretty unusual really, considering he worked for Phoenix. Without saying a word, he pulled his knife from his pocket and began working the lining away from his jacket. The stitches were tight, like they were the original factory ones, but the sharpness of his blade made light work of them.

He sighed as he spotted a flat and very small device carefully sewn behind one of the breast pockets.

“Okay, so you’re right, Harpham’s in this up to his eyeballs, but why? I still don’t buy money or politics.” Mac slipped his knife back into his trouser pocket and wondered if he ought to search those too. Considering he hadn’t another pair, he settled on hoping they were clean.

“I don’t know why, and I don’t care. All I know is my mission is had it, thanks to the idiot.” Watkins scowl said his mind was thinking of much more colorful words to describe Harpham, and had Ana not been present, he would surely have used them.

MacGyver was impressed that the Brit had that much integrity, killer or not. “You’re right,” he admitted. “We should call in to our people and sort this mess…” He reached to his shoulder and loosened the strap on his backpack. It slid down and he tugged open the flap to retrieve his radio.

Or rather, what was left of it. He’d felt the pain of landing from the tree, but apparently the radio had been mortally wounded. The outer casing was cracked and several small components fell out as Mac gently shook it. He rolled his eyes.

Watkins couldn’t help a small grin and his Yorkshire accent surfaced strong and true. “I’d say that’s well and truly buggered…”

“What about yours?” Mac asked hopefully.

Watkins shrugged. “No radios. It’s too risky in my game. I have a rendezvous point when my mission is over, and if I don’t make it, I’m presumed compromised.”

Suddenly MacGyver felt like he was hitting his head against a brick wall. Why did I accept this assignment when I could have been after Mariotte? “So how the heck do we warn Phoenix and the authorities what’s going down?” He shook the radio, wishing he had something to work with, but the damage was beyond even him.

“This isn’t just about Harpham being a traitor.” Watkins kicked angrily at a grimy pillow he’d apparently been using. “I came here to find evidence of the atrocities going on. The world needs to see this so that N.A.T.O. is justified in more aggressive action. How can I finish my mission now the Serbs know who I am? Not to mention thanks to you, they’re probably outside already!”

Ana stepped forwards between the two men. Until now she’d been deathly silent, but she held a hand up like an ancient matriarch, silencing her companions. “Give me the tracker,” she almost demanded. “I will take it across country away from here. I can be your decoy.”

“No way!” Mac didn’t let her get chance to say more. “This isn’t a game. Those soldiers out there will kill you and your family for even being near us. What do you think they’d do if they found the tracker on you?”

“I know exactly what they’ll do,” she countered. “I’ve seen it enough times over the last few months, and I’m willing to take the risk.”

Mac wasn’t. “I said, no way!"

Watkins was apparently less concerned. “She’s right. The only way I can finish my job here is if the Serbs are tailing her, not me. It’s that important.”

“Lives are important,” MacGyver almost growled. “Not just some figures on a N.A.T.O. board.”

Ana put a calming hand on Mac’s forearm. “This is about lives and that’s why I’m doing it, don’t you see?”

MacGyver took a breath, rubbed at the stubble forming on his chin, and actually took a moment to think. While he didn’t necessarily agree with Watkins motives for sending the girl, he could see Ana’s, and at the end of the day he couldn’t really stop her anyway. “Okay,” he slowly agreed. “But it doesn’t mean I have to like it…” He shot Watkins a glance of disapproval, but the Brit either didn’t notice, or didn’t care.

Ana picked up the tracker and rolled it over in her palm, examining it before stuffing it into a pocket on her coat. “I will see you again when it is safe!”

Before Mac could argue, she was bounding up the steps back into the darkness of the outside world.

Watkins cocked his head seemingly in approval. “She’s got nerve, that lass.”

“Why do I get the impression she’s a long way to catch you up?” MacGyver’s scowl made it obvious it wasn’t a compliment. Watkins was a killer, not a humanitarian that was for sure.

The Brit saw the funny side of the comment, even though he obviously picked up on Mac’s implication. “You’re not exactly Napoleon Solo you know? Your entrance could definitely do with some work…” He chuckled wryly.

“Yeah well, you’re not exactly James Bond yourself – not with that accent.” MacGyver glanced at the Sig Sauer. “So who are you really? I’m betting S.A.S.” He nodded to the automatic.

Watkins gave a small sarcastic salute. “Aye, you’re not wrong. D squadron, B troop at your service, Sir – at least I was, before being recruited to British Intelligence.” His eyes scrutinized Mac for a second, apparently evaluating. “You might work for a think tank now, but you’re no civvy, either, not originally.”

Mac took down a breath. It had been a long time since he’d thought about his bomb disposal training, and then his work with Pete prior to Phoenix. It was easy to forget he’d once been classed as a government man himself. “I used to work for the D.X.S.” he admitted. “So maybe with both our knowledge we can somehow save this situation?”

Watkins rubbed at his chin like his was some grizzled coal miner rather than an agent, but he didn’t get chance to reply. A noise from topside made both men whirl around and stare at the steps down into the cellar.

Someone was coming, and if it was a Serb patrol, they were both probably as good as dead.

Watkins pulled his automatic and aimed, while Mac grabbed a nearby axe handle and took position with it behind the steps, hoping to knock the newcomer’s feet from under them should they be the enemy.

The wood creaked with the interloper’s weight, and then Ana appeared from the darkness, tears streaking her face, as she gulped down air between sobs.

MacGyver was at the girl’s side first. He dropped the handle and grabbed her by the shoulders, looking her in the eyes to try and calm her. “Ana, what’s happened?”

More footsteps from above, and two seconds later, Velid appeared, he looked more angry than upset, and his hands shook with temper as he clasped his AK47. “It’s a massacre! No one stood a chance!”

“Hey kid? Will you shut your mouth so your sister can explain?” Watkins icy glare stopped Velid in his tracks, and he swallowed hard, but didn’t speak again.

Apparently even he knew Watkins wasn’t to be trifled with.

“Ana?” Mac tried again. “What’s going on?”

Ana rubbed her forearm across her face, wiping away the streaks were she’d been crying. “We heard gunfire,” she sniffed. “We followed the sound back to our village, and when we arrived the Serb soldiers were there. We missed most of the attack; by the time we reached the outskirts everyone was dead – even Kadira.” She choked back more tears at her sister’s name and MacGyver suddenly felt guilty.

Has the village been attacked because the Serbs were following me? Did they figure out I got some help getting outta the tree?

Mac let go of Ana’s shoulders and closed his eyes for a second. It was never easy in these situations – never easy to admit that as much as he tried, sometimes his actions caused suffering and pain. And he felt that pain, every dang time an assignment turned out like this.

Watkins obviously had no such cross to bear. “We need to go back to the village.” He turned around and hunkered over, grabbing his pack from where he’d been seated, along with the paperwork he’d been reading. “It’s ironic, but the photos I can get of this are just what I need to take back home to get opinion behind more N.A.T.O. action.”

“Is that all you can think of?” Mac snapped without thinking.

Watkins shrugged. “It’s what I’m here for.” He swung the pack over his shoulder and took the stairs two at a time out of the cellar.

Velid eyed MacGyver a moment, possibly waiting to see what move he would make. Eventually, the kid followed the Brit out into the night.

“We should help Paul,” Ana told MacGyver, her voice still quivering, but her forcefulness saying she was drawing strength from somewhere. “He might be an abrupt, sometimes even rude man, but what he’s doing here could actually help.” She took Mac’s hand, squeezed it, and then took off after her brother.

MacGyver waited just a second, amazed at her resilience, and then gave chase.

* * * *

The village was cold and silent. No birds chirped, no children laughed, even those cradling the bodies of their loved ones sobbed without making a sound.

A small and very chill breeze whipped up from the south, and as MacGyver stepped over the debris of people’s homes, he realized it had begun to rain – even the heavens wept for this community.

It reminded Mac of the village in Africa he’d recently liberated with the help of Jack Dalton. Miles apart and yet joined by a common problem – mankind’s cruelty to one another.

Mac bit into his lip as he watched Paul Watkins snapping away wildly with a high end camera. Would pictures be enough? He doubted it.

From somewhere close, a burst of staccato gunfire brought him from his melancholy thoughts. More Serb soldiers?

MacGyver broke into a sprint and was soon joined by Watkins, his Canon SLR replaced with the Sig Sauer. They reached a small fence that had been torn partly down by the Serbs, and the other side was Velid. He was hovering over a young Serbian soldier, his AK47 prodding the youth like an animal.

Mac slowed, realizing Velid had shot the Serb once already. “Hey, he’s down, there’s no need for any more violence.” He held up his hands and cocked a brow, urging Ana’s brother to be calm and not do anything rash.

Velid wasn’t apparently that easily swayed. He jerked his head behind them to a huge hole in the ground and several terrified villagers with shovels. “He was making my people dig a mass grave for all the villagers his kind killed! He deserves to die and I’m going to make sure that he does!”

MacGyver could see the hatred flaring in Velid’s eyes, and to a degree he could understand it, but he couldn’t condone another death. “Whoa there now, you better not kill him, we might need him for information…it could maybe save other people going through what your village has.”

Velid’s hands shook, but Mac wasn’t sure whether it was shock at what he’d done, or temper because he wasn’t going to be allowed to finish the kill.

“Killing isn’t the only way you know?” Mac soothed, trying to reach out, hoping there was still an ordinary teenager inside Velid’s darkened soul somewhere. “In fact, it’s no way at all…For heaven’s sake; he’s just a kid like you. You were once neighbors before Yugoslavia broke up, how can you all turn on each other so easily?”

Velid didn’t answer, but the wounded Serb groaned and rolled onto his back, his left hand clutching at his right shoulder. The kid’s eyes were full of fear, and they were locked onto MacGyver as if he was the last merciful man on the planet.

Mac kneeled at the Serb’s side and pulled away his hand to look at the wound. Velid’s bullet had glanced off the very top of the youth’s shoulder, taking a chunk of flesh, but nothing more. He’d been lucky so far.

MacGyver looked up, wondering what he could use to staunch the bleeding, and summarily found a piece of cloth from Ana’s top being placed in his hand. He nodded in thanks and pressed it against the wound. “It’s not bad,” he assured the soldier, hoping he understood.

The youth gulped and shot Velid a glance.

Velid glared back, his finger tickling his rifle’s trigger, but he didn’t speak or move.

“I…I’m sorry for what happened here…” The Serb looked at Mac. “My father wanted me to be a proud soldier, insisted I fight for the cause…but I don’t feel proud today.” He looked at the ground as rain pelted down through the trees around them, splashing off his face like tears.

Mac carefully took his flattened real of duct tape and used a few long strips to try and secure his makeshift dressing in place. As he worked, he kept his eyes locked on the soldier. “If you don’t agree with what’s happening, then why not try and change it?” He asked quietly.

“I’m but just one voice, and it would quickly be extinguished if I spoke of how I really feel.” The Serb winced as he tried to sit up with Mac’s help.

“One man, one voice, that’s how it has to start,” Mac pushed. “You can help us today, here, now, and all you have to do is give us some information.”

“I’d say you owe us at least that,” Watkins chimed in. “Seeing as how we stopped ol’ Vicious Velid here from ripping your head off.”

The soldier looked around the group and then licked his lips. He looked tired, and Mac knew he was hurting.

“I don’t really know much. I was a nobody, not allowed to know all the details. What I can tell you is that the commander of this region, Miomir Nikolic has been given top secret information by a U.S. officer.”

Watkins pushed forwards, hovering over the soldier with a definite air of menace. His voice grew deep and guttural, and everyone present knew that meant he would go to any lengths to get the answers he needed. “What kind of information?” He demanded. “And I don’t expect to be told a bunch of lies, because I think you know what that would get you?”

“The officer has given Nikolic the route of a flight of F15’s that are part of the Deny Flight operation. Nikolic has already given the order to try and shoot them down…” The soldier coughed and grabbed at his shoulder. For a moment, he closed his eyes in obvious pain.

Watkins didn’t flinch; he simply pulled a map from his pocket and stuffed it under the wounded youth’s nose. “Show me where your people are positioned, and I might let you live…” It was a growl, rather than a sentence.

“He sent a team with SA14 Gremlins here.” The Serb pointed on the map with a bloodied finger. “North of the region…and it’s to happen in the next four hours…” His voice waned and his eyes rolled back as he slipped into unconsciousness.

MacGyver watched him for a moment. The soldier would live, but if they didn’t do something about the missiles, the same might not be said for the F15 pilots.

“What are Gremlins?” Velid asked, apparently losing interest in the Serb now that he was no longer awake to intimidate.

“They’re a kind of portable surface to air missile,” Mac answered gravely. “And given the position this kid just pointed out on the map, they’re too far away to reach on foot – at least in the next four hours.”

Watkins shook his head and ran a hand over his very short hair in obvious disdain. “What a bloody mess. How are we supposed to do anything with no radio and no transport?”

Mac sucked down a breath. “I guess we have to improvise…”

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