Mac pressed the transmit button on the mike. “Pete, I’m going to try a rescue mission. We can’t just leave the kid out here.”

“MacGyver…you know I can’t help you?” The tone of Pete’s voice suggested he was angry about that fact. “But I can pretend I didn’t hear what you just said. And I can delay your pickup a few hours…”

“Thanks, Pete. I owe you one.”

MacGyver imagined his friend smiling on the other end as he answered.

“I doubt that. I owe you more than I can count,” Thornton admitted. “Now go find Harpham’s son and be careful about it. His name’s Steve, by the way.”

“Just tell Nikki to keep after Mariotte, and I’ll be home before you know it.” Mac let go of the transmit button, and the line grew silent. He knew Pete was keeping the conversation to a minimum because of what he was about to attempt.

Mac glanced at Watkins, unsure of what his next move would be. The Yorkshireman winked. “Count me in, you mad bugger. I need to find that camp to get Nikolic anyway.”

“You’re still going after him to kill him?” MacGyver was disappointed. He’d hoped some of his humanity had rubbed off on Watkins. “You know I can’t condone that.”

“You don’t have to.” Watkins turned away, as if he was slightly ashamed. “That’s why Her Majesty gives me the license to kill, not you. And for once, I think Nikolic is someone who deserves what he’s going to get.”

Mac didn’t really believe that. Everyone deserved a fair trial, but no matter what, he knew there would be no changing Watkins mind – only Watkins could do that. “Okay, so we can take their truck, but how do we even find Nikolic?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ve been well briefed on his location by intelligence minions.” Watkins clarified. “But the truck’s leaking oil from the pipe you cut?”

It was MacGyver’s turn to wink. “Oh don’t worry about that,” he offered as he moved to the truck and popped the hood. “The Phoenix Foundation has a minion that can fix that too…”

* * * *

Watkins parked the Serbian truck a good distance from where he expected Nikolic’s base to be, and the two men walked in on foot. The camp was in a forested area, with guards hidden in the undergrowth, camouflaged by the local flora.

The outer perimeter was made up of tents and troops ambling too and fro, rifles slung over their shoulders. But further in there was part of an actual building made of brick and stone, it’s incomplete walls plastered in off white and pockmarked with bullet holes.

From the machinery and abandoned tools lying around, this had been a building site before the war began, possibly a factory or industrial unit being constructed – and now it lay unfinished, used for the opposite of its original purpose. Now this place meant death, not any kind of future.

Mac hunkered down behind a fallen tree and took in the scene. It wasn’t going to be easy to infiltrate the first line where the tents where, let alone find the kid beyond that. He blew out an exasperated puff of air and waited for Watkins to bring up the rear.

The Brit finally arrived ten minutes later.

“Is your parking really that bad it took ten minutes?” Mac teased, looking at his watch for effect.

Watkins wiggled a tiny pair of binoculars in his right hand. “I was gathering intelligence. Jeez, that might be why they call me an intelligence agent…” he snarked back playfully.

“So what ya find?”

Watkins gestured past the soldiers milling around. “I think the kid’s being held on the South side. I can see a bunch of cells beyond a pretty dodgy brick wall.”

“Is it bad enough for a couple of charges to bring it down? This place was never finished…” Mac was thinking, the cogs in his mind whirling double time.

“Maybe,” Watkins conceded. “But we don’t have any charges, explosives, hell I don’t even have one stinking grenade…”

Mac rubbed at the stubble that was getting thicker on his chin. Jeez, I need a shave. “We took out the missile launchers back at the camp, but not all the S.A.M.’s. There are still some in the back of the truck we took. Ya think maybe we could dismantle a couple and jury rig some explosives and a detonator?”

“Do we have a choice?” Watkins scooted back to where they’d parked the truck and clambered in the back, closely followed by MacGyver.

As Mac used his knife to remove an access panel on “his” S.A.M. he glanced up at Watkins. The Brit already had him missile in pieces and the explosives removed.

“You know, this was a good idea, but just how do we get Harpham’s son out of the cell, once we’ve blown the wall?” Watkins continued to work as he spoke.

Mac popped out the explosives from his S.A.M. and placed them carefully down, focusing back on the trigger mechanism to use for the bomb they were making. “We need something heavy duty to wrap around the bars and then the truck’s chassis. Maybe we can just tear those bars right on out…”

Watkins finished his part of the task and slipped his knife away. His expression was one of bemusement, but it also seemed to say that he didn’t doubt Mac one bit. “Something heavy duty, huh? Don’t suppose you just happen to have a length of chain in that bottomless pocket of yours along with that duct tape?”

Mac twisted a bare wire and attached it to his jury-rigged trigger. Happy with his work he set it down next to the explosives and joined the corresponding wires. “Not exactly. But I noticed when you were gone that this place was once a building site?”

“Aye, I spotted too very rusted JCB’s back there, but they’re no good to us in that shape. And there’s definitely no chain on them, or rope even.”

“No,” Mac admitted, “but there’s a seriously heavy duty wooden reel of cable out there behind the second excavator. I guess they never finished putting in the mains electricity to the place before the war. That cable should take the strain, if we can unwind and cut enough to use.”

Watkins’ smirk reappeared. “Mac, you never cease to amaze me with that brain of yours. We should be able to roll or unwind a length easy enough. But we’d need a bloody big Swiss knife to cut it!”

Mac bit into his lip. Watkins was right, but that didn’t mean the idea was a bad one, they’d found a useful item nearby, now they needed to find another useful item to be able to complete the task. “C’mon, let's go take another look.”

MacGyver carefully picked up the bomb they’d made and jumped from the truck. Watkins picked up his own AK47, plus another he’d found, along with a multitude of clips and brought up the rear.

It was getting dusk by the time they made it back to the edge of Nikolic’s stronghold. Watkins plucked his binoculars back out and began to scan past the guards.

The soldiers seemed to have thinned out, but there could still be any number more hidden within the bushes. This was their territory, and they knew exactly how to use it to their advantage.

Watkins passed the binoculars to Mac without saying anything, and MacGyver quickly realized they were equipped with night vision. He twisted them into focus and aimed at the area where the hulks of the derelict JCB’s lay. There was a tool bag on the floor. Most of its contents had spilled out and had been trampled into the muddy ground, but he was sure he could see the edge of a saw blade.

It was full-sized, and “might” just cut through the diameter of the cable where his pocket knife stood no chance. “Wait here…” he didn’t want to waste time explaining, so simply handed the glasses back to Watkins and hunkered down low, following the bushes and undergrowth as far as he dared.

A Serb with his rifle slung over his shoulder ambled into view. He held a flashlight, and skimmed the perimeter with it. The beam narrowly missed MacGyver’s head, and the Serb moved on, oblivious.

Mac let out a sigh of relief, and dodged across to the huge rusty excavator. Its bright yellow paint was thinning and oxidized scabs were appearing on its metal skeleton, but it still had one purpose left – the cover it gave could save Mac’s life.

His back slid down its cold and muddy front wheel as he slithered to the ground, intent on crawling to the tool bag. In the distance, a stray dog barked incessantly, maybe it wanted food; maybe it wanted this horrid fight to end, so it could return to its home and master.

Mac pushed away the thought and let his right hand slide forwards in the mire until his fingers felt the sharp metal teeth of the saw. He tentatively prodded further until he had the wooden handle, and he pulled on it, yanking the saw quickly and carefully beneath his chest. It was quite rusty, but he didn’t want to risk even a tiny glint off the blade alerting the Serbs.

He looked around, but the soldiers appeared to be eating. Chow time had proved the perfect distraction.

Mac reversed until he was back at the JCB and panting, mostly from the mental rather than physical exertion. Now he had to move behind the excavator, unroll a length of cable, cut it, and drag it back, and this stuff was going to be heavy.

He moved cautiously to the rear of the JCB where the wooden reel was standing, but he needn’t have worried about unrolling it. Watkins had somehow beaten him to the task, and was waiting, arms crossed in the darkness.

This was Watkins’ game, MacGyver realized, and he was damn good at it, seeping into the night like a Ninja.

“Maybe you are James Bond after all?” Mac whispered, only half-jokingly as he began to saw into the massive wire as quietly as he could.

“Nah, he’s way too posh for me, I drink beer, sometimes whiskey, not some daft cocktail with fancy fruit stuck in it!” It was Watkins turn to only half-joke.

MacGyver didn’t mention the fact that he didn’t drink at all. That was something for later conversation – should they live.

The saw croaked and grumbled its way through the cable as Mac put his full weight on it, and he could actually see the blade bending slightly, but it was working. The insulated wire finally gave in his grasp and the section Watkins had unwound tumbled free.

Mac leaned over to grab it, but Watkins put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “It’s too much to try and drag that around with those soldiers about. Go get the truck and pick it up on the way to the wall.”

“We can’t just ride through here like Butch and Sundance! We’ll be under fire the minute they hear the truck approaching!” Mac was incredulous, had Watkins lost his mind?

“Oh, you’ll have plenty of time to get the cable, because it will be me that’s under fire. It’s my turn to come up with the madcap plan, except I don’t make things, I do things.”

Mac stopped trying to get a hold of the wire, and scowled. “Say what?”

“I’m going in after Nikolic,” Watkins explained, looking over his shoulder as if he’d heard something. “My attack will be the perfect distraction for you to go in and get Harpham’s kid.”

Mac was suddenly so frustrated he wanted to slap his forehead with his palm, but somehow he resisted the urge. “I hate it!” He almost shouted, then caught himself and lowered his voice. “That’s not a plan, it’s suicide!”

Watkins shot his customary cheeky grin. “No mate, its retirement. With the type of job I have, I’d never be allowed to simply leave Her Majesty’s finest. At least this way I go out doing something better than just killing for the bureaucrats.”

“There has to be another way?” Mac was almost pleading, even though he knew there would be no changing his companion’s mind.

“There isn’t,” Watkins confirmed. “I’ve come to a crossroads, thanks to you. And now I’ve made the choice which path to take.”

Mac’s head drooped. He felt sad and angry at the same time. While he’d hated the killing, he’d never planned on changing Watkins’ perspective on things so drastically he would all-but commit suicide.

But then wasn’t this always the same? Someone, somewhere always ended up dying to save another. Why did it have to be that way?

MacGyver turned, his mouth open to try and talk Watkins out his plan, but the Brit had been expecting it. He put a finger to his lips, effectively telling Mac to hush, and then took the AK47 from his shoulder and dodged from the JCB across to the second excavator. He paused before his assault, looking back with one last wink.

“Better hurry with that truck, Mac, even James Bond can’t fight off a camp of Serbs on his own…” And with that Watkins was gone, mixing with the Serbian guards like a chameleon.

MacGyver felt a lump rise in his throat. Watkins had got guts, no matter what his shortcoming were, and in another life, another time, he suspected they could even have become friends, despite their differences.

There was no time to ponder that now, though. He had to get to the truck and get it back here within minutes, or Watkins’ sacrifice would have been for nothing.

MacGyver began to run, ignoring the cries of Serbs behind him as they saw his fleeting form splashing through the mud and into the foliage beyond.

* * * *

The truck bounced violently beneath him, reminding Mac of a ride he’d had on a particularly nasty bunch of wild rapids down in South America. That time his life had been on the line too, but today it felt different, because he wasn’t on his own, and Watkins wasn’t coming back.

Mac tried to put the thought out of his mind as a Serbian soldier jumped in front of the truck and emptied his clip into the front end.

MacGyver yanked hard on the steering, forcing the truck to slew crazily, fishtailing in the wet ground, and narrowly missing the man. He was here to save a life, not take one, if he could help it.

More bullets pelted the old GM, shattering the right side of the windshield and peppering the drab metal with holes. Mac tried to ignore it and he headed for the length of cable they’d cut, but if the enemy fire didn’t stop soon, he was going to be in trouble.

On cue, the barrage against his vehicle seemed to lessen and Mac realized the majority of soldiers were now running away from him, and towards the inner building. The complex suddenly erupted in a hail of gunfire and small explosions, and he knew Paul was making his move.

Mac slowed the truck, skidding to a stop in the mud to attach the cable to the rear end. There was no resistance to his presence now, and he couldn’t help but be amazed how one lone man like Watkins could cause such chaos.

He’s dang good…

A pillar of fire exploded in the distance, too close to the cells for comfort, and MacGyver hastened to finish securing the cable and clambered back into the truck.

It was full frontal assault on the wall time, and he could only hope the front of the GM would stand the impact and still be intact enough for them use it to escape. There’s always Plan B, he chided himself. Although what that was exactly was beyond him until it presented itself.

The truck appeared to sense its impending doom and began to groan as he floored the pedal. It was short on oil after he’d “borrowed” some earlier, and the old diesel engine would only take so much.

Mac ignored the sounds and steered the olive beast straight at the crumbling wall. At the last minute, he used his left arm to shield his face against flying glass and other possible dangers, but he needn’t have.

The bricks simply disintegrated as the truck ploughed into them, like a house of cards falling from a small zephyr.

MacGyver’s heart skipped a beat, and he kept his foot down until he’d almost reached the cells. Once close enough, he spun the wheel, bringing the behemoth to a skidding sideways stop next to a bank of barred windows.

Was Harpham’s’ kid really here? Was Watkins sacrifice worth it?

He jumped down from the cab, sprinted to the nearest window and peered inside. The cell was empty save for a scurrying rat feasting on ancient scraps.

Mac moved to the next window.

Bingo! Someone was inside, huddling in a corner, terrified and perilously thin. It was too dark to make out any features, or how old the person was, but even if this wasn’t Harpham’s’ son, they didn’t deserve the treatment they were getting.

MacGyver raced back to the truck, grabbed the dirt covered cable and hauled it to the bars. It wasn’t easy to thread through and tie off as it was far less pliable than a rope or chain, but on the second attempt he managed it.

The gunfire around him was getting closer now. Had the soldiers gotten the better of Watkins?

Mac pushed an image of the Brit aside and continued his task. He jumped back in the truck, flooring the accelerator once again until the engine began to whine with the strain. He stuck his head through the broken glass of the side window to look behind as the wheels slipped in the loose, wet ground, and then finally gained purchase.

There was a grating sound as the cable pinged as taut as it would go, and then finally the bars in the window surrendered, screaming as they were torn from the bricks and mortar that held them fast.

The truck staggered forwards until Mac hit the brakes and then lay still, chugging unevenly as its tired motor ticked over.

MacGyver was back out in less than a second, climbing through the narrow window space and into the darkness beyond. There were shouts from inside somewhere down a corridor – the soldiers knew he was here, there was little time left.

Mac approached the figure in the corner cautiously. It was definitely a man, and he was rocking back and forth, his arms wrapped tightly around his body like it could protect him. His eyes widened as he finally realized someone had entered, his mind apparently finally broken from its fear induced stupor.

“It’s okay, I’m here to get you out,” Mac soothed, a hand outstretched in friendship. “Name’s MacGyver, c’mon, I have transport…”

There was an awkward pause, and Mac could hear the boots of Serbs as they rapidly approached from one of the adjacent passages.

The figure gulped and finally looked up enough for MacGyver to see into his tortured eyes. He looked old, like he’d spent time with Methuselah himself, but beneath the pain and suffering was a young man not much older than Sam. His lips were bloodied from countless beatings and his cheeks bruised and swollen.

The realization hit Mac hard. This could be Sam in this position. Photojournalist…

“I’m Steve…” The kid coughed out his name, confirming he was Harpham’s’ son, and then wearily tried to stand. The effort was too much for him, and he slumped back down, chest heaving.

Mac hunkered over, grabbed the young man’s arm and slung it across his own shoulder, taking Steve’s weight and hauling him up. The process of getting to the window was more a case of dragging the kid than walking him, but it was also the quickest.

Once there, Mac wasted no time in lifting Steve into the gap and pushing him through. There was a small yelp as the kid lost his balance and landed in a heap the other side, but MacGyver ignored it.

The guards were at the cell door, fumbling in the darkness to unlock it. Why they hadn’t put any lights on was anyone’s guess, but Mac presumed Watkins had somehow taken the power out.

Just as Mac’s legs tumbled through the window and out the other side, a spattering of bullets followed. They were far from home free yet.

“C’mon!” Mac tried to encourage Steve to stand, and to his credit he tried, but within seconds his legs were buckling back beneath him.

Mac caught him before he hit the ground hard a second time, and this time didn’t even bother to try and drag him. Instead, he lifted the kid hastily over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift and carried him to the truck, slipping and sliding along the way as his boots lost their footing on the soddened earth.

Gunfire erupted from the window, spraying the GM with a line of bullets that narrowly missed the cab and Mac’s right ear. The noise as it exploded into the metal of the truck was deafening it was so close, and he almost dropped Steve into the passenger seat as he reflexively grabbed for his ringing eardrum.

Steve grunted, but his eyes seemingly offered thanks.

MacGyver didn’t attempt to go around to the driver’s side to get in; instead he clambered over the kid and slammed the still idling beast into first gear. It complained heartily as he gunned the accelerator, and for a second the rear wheels just spun again, then the truck took purchase in the mud and lurched forwards, back towards the toppled wall and freedom.

Mac dared to look in the side mirror, through the cracks in the glass to see what was happening behind. The building was covered in a cloud of smoke now, and here and there, flames licked up the walls like evil tendrils. Amidst the mayhem and fog, a lone figure walked tall, as if somehow he was untouchable.

Watkins held his AK47 in one hand and his SIG Sauer in the other, and around him, Serbs seemed to scurry away in fear. Was it the Brit’s sheer tenacity that had them on the run?

The scene lasted mere seconds before Watkins was enveloped by the smog he had created, and he was gone.

Mac looked away from the mirror, focusing back on escape, but his head bowed just a little, knowing that he had probably just seen a friend’s last living moments. He swallowed hard and glanced at Harpham’s son, still cowering next to him. It was time to go home.

The truck hit a groove in the ground, bouncing MacGyver from his sad thoughts, and he carefully maneuvered around another shell hole before skidding back onto an actual road.

He had the co-ordinates in his head for where Phoenix was going to rendezvous with them, and he steered the GM on the straightest path possible over the terrain, keeping too firm a grip on the wheel until his knuckles turned white.

Steve didn’t talk, and Mac didn’t have any words to speak to him. All he could think of over and over was how the whole mess had spiraled out of control, just as it had in Romania with Viktor being killed, right after he’d understood what humanity and friendship meant.

And now it had happened again – with Paul Watkins.

* * * *

Pete Thornton’s Office
Phoenix Foundation Headquarters
L.A. Division

MacGyver twiddled his thumbs aimlessly as he sat in front of Pete. Normally he would find something on the elder man’s desk and tinker with it, but today there was nothing that teased his inquisitive nature.

He wanted away from the offices, away from the memory of his last assignment. The images of Watkins walking through the smoke while he drove away with Harpham’s kid still haunted him. It was what the Brit had wanted, but Mac shouldn’t have let it gone down that way.

“…Steve is recovering nicely in a U.S.A.F. hospital in Germany, thanks to you.” Pete finished a sentence Mac had only half heard. “Hello? Earth to MacGyver, anyone home?”

Just how Pete had known Mac hadn’t got his full attention, given his blindness, was anyone’s guess, but apparently he had. Mac came back to reality with a start as a letter opener was waved in front of his nose for effect.

“Hey! You could have taken my nose off with that thing!” He teased, and then offered up an apologetic, “Sorry…I was…somewhere else.”

Pete sighed, sat back in his chair and took down a breath. He crossed his hands in front of him on the desk and waited.

Eventually, MacGyver became part of the conversation again. “What about Harpham?” He asked. “Will he still be charged?”

“The Airforce has to show this kind of thing won’t be tolerated,” Pete confirmed. “But I’m guessing given the circumstances they’ll show some leniency. His career is over, though, that’s for sure.”

Mac nodded, but then, no doubt Harpham considered it worth it to save his son. How far would I have gone, had it been Sam?

“Ya know, I kinda get where he was coming from?” Mac admitted. “I know just how helpless I felt when Sam was shot on that Boeing, and then again when he was hurt at Klamath Falls during the earthquake.”

Pete agreed with a knowing nod. “I hear ya. A good parent will do anything they can for their kids.” He ran a hand over his mouth, and his expression saddened a little as his voice turned to a whisper. “I know from experience you sometimes don’t do enough, and don’t even realize it.”

MacGyver frowned. Pete’s son had a chequered past when it came to Phoenix, and sometimes Pete blamed himself for not being around for his son enough. Mac had never bought into that, though. “Hey, you’re a good dad, and don’t you forget it.” He stood up and began to pace in front of the window. He had a question, a nagging that wouldn’t go away until he had the answer, even though technically he already knew what it would be. “Pete…there’s something I gotta know…”

Pete had already second-guessed him. “I’m sorry, Mac, the British government has confirmed Paul Watkins never returned from his mission, and that Miomir Nikolic is missing, presumed dead.”

“Dang it, Pete, why don’t we ever get the happy ending? Why does every assignment we complete always have to have that one downside? That one death, that one unanswered question, that murderer who got off, or rhino that still got butchered?” Mac dropped heavily back onto his chair, deflated.

“Hey, you saved the kid, isn’t that enough?” Pete soothed. “Look Mac, I’m really sorry I ever got you involved with all this, but in the end you can only play the cards you’re given, and we thought we were rescuing a downed pilot.”

Mac nodded. “You’re right, Pete. I guess I’m just expecting too much, huh?” He forced a smile, even though his friend couldn’t see it. Somehow, it beat a frown, even if he wasn’t feeling all that happy. “I guess I better go see what Sam is up to before he gets himself into more trouble with Andy…” He pushed out of the chair and headed for the exit.

“He’s still seeing Andrea Donati?”

Mac stopped at the door and this time his smile was genuine. “Oh heck yeah, every chance he gets. She’s the one thing that keeps him grounded. It just scares me to death…”

Pete frowned. “Why?”

“Oh…just that I might have to answer to the name Grandpa Mac some day…” MacGyver closed the door behind him and jogged for the elevator down to the parking garage, and he could still hear Pete chuckling as he pressed the button for the correct floor.

* * * *

The garage under Phoenix always felt cold to MacGyver. Maybe it was the sterile concrete walls, or just the lack of humans most of the time, he really wasn’t sure, but right now, the mood he was in, it didn’t exactly make him feel welcome.

He sighed as he stepped out of the elevator and across to where his Jeep was parked. The 4x4 waited obediently, but it wasn’t until he got closer that he realized the driver’s door was slightly ajar.

Mac’s gait slowed. He was sure he hadn’t left it this way, which meant an opportunist thief or worse had been at work. A bomb maybe? Someone lurking in the back, ready to pounce with a gun or knife?

He reached the door, tugged on it gently and realized there was a note on the steering wheel. For a moment, Mac smiled – this had to be another one of Jack Dalton’s stupid pranks, right?

After all, the last cryptic, and pretty scary memo had been from Dalton in the end. Yeah, and look where that lead me! An African state in turmoil and a whole bunch of trouble!

MacGyver snatched up the note, still complaining under his breath, but then he realized the handwriting was not the familiar scrawl of his flying, slightly zany buddy. In fact, he didn’t recognize it at all.

“See you at the burger stand. I might even buy you lunch.”

There was a burger and hot dog stall just on the corner of Phoenix, and MacGyver could only guess this was where he was being directed. Intrigued, he fell into a sprint up to the sidewalk and over to the stand.

Save for the vendor, there was no one around, just a few milling shoppers.

Mac opened his mouth to ask the stall owner if any messages had been left, when he felt something cold press into the small of his back. He tensed, hoping it wasn’t the barrel of a gun, not out here in the open where innocents could get mixed up in the fray.

He took a breath, made a quick decision and spun around like a mini whirlwind, hoping to catch his assailant off guard.

Instead, Mac found Paul Watkins grinning back at him, his cheeks reddened from stifling laughter. “You fell for that one good and proper, mate.”

Mac brushed at his leather jacket absently, suddenly feeling like an easy mark. “Hey, I wasn’t expecting to be ambushed by a dead guy!”

Watkins rubbed at his ear. It seemed to be a habit of his MacGyver hadn’t consciously noticed before. “Aye, well reports of my death have been gravely exaggerated, which is just I wanted,” he explained a little more quietly. “You see “dying” was the easiest way for me to retire. If they think I’m dead, they won’t want to kill me know, will they?”

Mac nodded. It made sense. “Dare I ask what happened to Nikolic? Reports say he’s missing?”

Paul smiled, and this time there was something else in his eyes, something gentle Mac hadn’t seen there before. Understanding, compassion even? “Let’s just say my time with you turned me soft. The S.A.S. trained me to kill, not just improvise, but you, you got me thinking outside the box.”

“You didn’t kill him?” MacGyver was genuinely surprised and pleased.

“No…I finally realized that would have been pointless. And it made me no better than him. ‘Course, that left me with a huge problem, no way could I leave him in power, either.” Watkins paused, as if reflecting what he’d done. “Handing Nikolic over to the other side would probably have been a death sentence, and N.A.T.O. couldn’t imprison him, so I was buggered.”

“But somehow, you made it work, didn’t you?”

“Aye, and I didn’t use one bit of duct tape!” Watkins chuckled and then explained further. “I took Nikolic to a monastery I knew about, just over the border. It took a lot of sweet talking, but I persuaded the monks there to shall we say, “keep him safe” until the whole Bosnian situation is resolved.”

“You? Sweet talking anybody? Now that has to be a first!” Mac shook his head, amazed at the transformation. “Are you sure you didn’t hold them at gunpoint?” He teased. “Or maybe that knife you keep tucked in your boot?”

“It wasn’t easy convincing them,” Watkins assured. “But I think deep down they knew Nikolic would kill, or at least give the orders to kill countless people just because of their faith or ethnicity. By keeping him locked away, they were saving civilians as well as Nikolic’s immortal soul.” He broke into a grin again. “Not to mention my immortal soul if I didn’t have to kill him!”

MacGyver just stood for a moment, unsure how to take it all in. He’d wanted a happy, death free ending just once, and now he’d got one. It all sounded crazy, but it also made him feel good deep down inside, knowing there really was an alternative to guns and death, and he’d help Watkins find it.

“So what now?” Mac asked, thinking of what the Brit would do with his new life.

Watkins apparently wasn’t planning that far ahead. He pointed to the burger stall. “Well, I did say I’d buy you lunch…”

Mac winced, rolled his eyes and pointed back to the gate to Phoenix’s underground parking. “I think I can find us somewhere a little less heart attack-inducing to eat. C’mon.” He fell into a brisk walk.

Watkins followed, seemingly still feeling playful. “What? Good old fish and chips?” He joked.

MacGyver wasn’t actually sure he’d ever had the pleasure, even though he’d been to England a few times throughout his life. Heck, he even had another friend named Paul there, although he didn’t imagine he was the type to eat fish and chips.

He opened the door to the Jeep Watkins had already “unlocked” previously and climbed in. Paul joined him the other side.

“You’re not one of those really healthy eaters are you?” Watkins questioned warily, but with a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Because you know I might just have to go eat with Nikolic if you are…”

Mac pulled the Jeep out onto the highway and grinned. “You mean you don’t like salads and Tofu?”

Watkins groaned. “I knew it! You Yanks and your food fetishes!”

MacGyver spun the wheel and took a side road, heading off into the sunset and the heart of L.A.

And he was smiling almost as much as the day he’d first met Sam.

Because Watkins had turned a page, and Mac knew someday he’d do something amazing, something selfless and heroic – all without hurting anyone else, perhaps even without using a gun.

And maybe if he was lucky, their paths might cross again and Mac might even be there to witness it, because Paul Watkins was a rare commodity – a man he now called friend.

The End