Altadena station was a one story building that belonged to the L.A. County Sheriff’s Department. It was a pleasant building, but as MacGyver pulled his Jeep up outside, he couldn’t help but expect a less than pleasant person to greet him. Their meeting had been brief at Andy’s cabin, but Mac would never forget the look of pleasure on the sheriff’s face as he’d gunned down Rimmer.

“You don’t like this guy already, do you?” Sam asked as they both climbed from the 4x4.

“Not one bit,” Mac agreed slipping on his sunglasses in the December sun. “He enjoys hurting people just a little too much for my liking.”

They stepped inside and headed for the door marked Sheriff Al Keenan. Mac pushed in first, and slid his glasses back off to address a young black deputy whose nametag read Jessica Yates. She was sitting at a desk, apparently manning the radio.

“Morning,” MacGyver offered politely, “Names, MacGyver, I’m looking for Sheriff Keenan?”

The deputy let out a slight huff, looked like she was about to say something derogatory, and then bit it back. “The sheriff isn’t in yet,” she offered instead.

Sam stepped forwards next to his dad. “Is he normally in at this time?” He looked up at the bright red wall clock adorning the far office divider. It was 10.35am, so not exactly early.

Deputy Yates winced. “No sir, he’s normally much earlier.” Her tone said his tardiness was unexpected, and an annoyance. “He’s scheduled for a meeting this morning with the County clerk at 11am.”

MacGyver stole a glance to Sam, and then looked back at Jessica, trying to keep the conversation light. It was too early to let the cat out of the bag what they were here for. “What’s the sheriff like to work for? I’ve heard he’s pretty laid-back?”

Yates huffed, seemed to ponder if she should answer, and then shrugged. “If you call using photographs of actual townsfolk he doesn’t like out on the shooting rang to aim at, laid-back, then I guess he is.” She leaned forwards, looked around as if there was actually someone else that might hear her, and then continued. “Look, I’m leaving at the end of the month, so it doesn’t matter. Keenan is a bully and he doesn’t care who he hurts. I don’t know how he ever got this job with his attitude.”

Mac took down a breath. It was pretty much what he’d expected. But why hadn’t Keenan turned in this morning? And so soon after shooting Rimmer? It might be something innocent, like a flat tire or a stomach bug, but MacGyver sensed something more.

“I hate to ask, and I know it might get you into hot water, but do you have Sheriff Keenan’s home address?”

Jessica thought about it, and she cocked her left brow. “This is about that incident yesterday, isn’t it? The sheriff came back here with that prisoner, and boy was he in a state, I’ve never seen him flustered before, but he looked real upset. Left early and all. Are you some kind of Internal Affairs?”

MacGyver decided to come clean. “No, miss, we work for something called the Phoenix Foundation.” He slipped a hand into his pocket and offered up his I.D. “We’re not here officially in any capacity, though. The cabin your sheriff burst into? We were there, and Keenan didn’t exactly do things by the book.”

“That’s putting it mildly, Dad,” Sam added, then looked at the girl. “He shot Jerry Rimmer down in cold blood.”

The deputy shivered then grabbed up her purse, pushing away from the desk. “I’m resigning right now. I want no part of this.” She looked genuinely horrified. “I took this job to help people, not murder them.” Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she took up a pen, and scribbled down a note, offering it to Mac. “You might find Keenan there, but after how he was yesterday, he might already be halfway to Mexico.” She nodded, and then scurried out, leaving the radio crackling behind her.

* * * *

Sunset Ridge Road, Altadena
Sheriff Keenan’s House…

Sam pulled the Jeep up a few houses from the sheriff’s and pulled on the parking brake. He killed the engine, and then looked at his dad. “There’s a Chevy Blazer over there with the tailgate wide open, and the trunk is full of cases?” he raised a brow and pointed, but Mac had already noticed.

“He’s running alright.” MacGyver dropped out from the Jeep and began to carefully pick his way over to the 4x4, his eyes dancing from the truck, to Keenan’s home. The sheriff was a wild card, and he could come out guns blazing if he realized they were onto him.

Sam brought up the rear, his camera in one hand, ready for the ultimate shoot – but with film, not bullets.

A kid breezed by on a BMX bike, shot them a bemused look and then pedaled faster, as if he sensed something was going down.

Mac licked his lips, ran a hand through his hair, and paused outside Keenan’s one story property. It was clean, but he’d bet a hundred dollar bill there was no Mrs. Keenan – the place had no soul – maybe his apartment gave off the same vibe.

“Dad, the door’s open…” Sam nodded as the front shutter flapped lazily in the afternoon breeze. “Think he knows we’re here?” He instinctively lowered his voice.

MacGyver shook his head, unsure of the answer. “I don’t know, but there’s only one sure way to find out.” He took tentative steps towards the front of the building, getting faster when no one challenged him.

When he reached the door, he paused and gently knocked on the shutter as it blew to and fro. No one answered, and MacGyver chanced stepping inside. Sam joined him. The place was a mess, like Keenan had been throwing things around in a hurry. Another open case lay on the couch, half-filled with clothes and personal items.

“Why would he kill Jerry and then run?” Sam asked no one in particular.

MacGyver didn’t answer, instead moving into the kitchen. Halfway across the room, he stopped dead and winced as he spotted something unsavory on the floor in front of the cooker. It was Keenan, but he wouldn’t be running anywhere soon.

The sheriff’s body was lying on his side, his head leaning against a unit, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. A kitchen knife protruded from his back, pushed in almost to the hilt. Blood pooled around him, soaking a nearby rug crimson.

Mac kneeled beside the dead man, careful not to disturb the crime scene.

“I’ve heard of an eye for an eye, but someone really wanted this guy dead, and I don’t think it was because of what he did to Jerry.” Sam was leaning over the body, but he made no attempt to take a photo. He might be a journalist, but he didn’t behave like the typical glory hound.

MacGyver stood back up. “He’s been silenced, but why? This has to do with Rimmer’s case. If the good sheriff here framed Jerry, I’d guess it wasn’t for himself, and that usually only leaves one motive.”

“Money.” Sam nodded. “And that means the real killer is still on the loose!”

“Call the police,” Mac asked quietly. “I’ll take a look around until they get here.” He moved into the lounge and spotted a bureau. Moving deftly over another rug – this one blood-free, he tried the handle on the top drawer using a hanky from his pocket. It was locked, and that probably meant there were things inside Keenan hadn’t wanted just anyone seeing.

MacGyver pulled his knife out, chose a small blade and placed it in the lock. He put his hand over the main body, and gave it a small whack. There was no precision work required here, it was a crude mechanism, and a cheap bureau, like its owner.

The drawer popped open, and Mac slid it out further. There was a bank book inside and a few receipts. He picked up the book, flipped it open to the latest page and read down the entries using his forefinger as a guide.

There was a large payment in, and after a quick calculation, MacGyver realized it had been paid the week of the kidnapping and murder. Why? Why pay a cop to frame someone? The real perp had obviously gotten away with the crime anyway?

Sam returned breaking his dad’s mind from further questions.

“Um, dad?” He squirmed uneasily. “Can you smell anything?”

MacGyver looked up from the bank book. He’d been so engrossed in Keenan’s finances, his other senses appeared to have gone into sleep mode. Now that Sam mentioned it, he did smell something – gas.

And there was a faint hissing sound too, barely audible, but there.

“Sam! Run!” Mac stuffed the bank book into his jacket as his legs kicked into the fastest sprint he could muster. Sam took point barreling out the door so hard the shutter almost hit his dad in the face as he brought up the rear.

Sam’s sneakers hit the garden path and he skidded, almost falling flat on his face. Hands from behind, steadied him, and without looking back he regained balance and lurched forwards.

Just as the gate was close enough to touch, something happened.

The shockwave hit first, knocking both men forwards into one another as the building exploded outwards in a ball of fire and timber, then the sound followed, almost deafening everyone on the street and in the nearby houses.

MacGyver rolled as if he was landing from a parachute jump, then threw his arms in front of his face as he felt pieces of smoldering wood raining down on him. The sky above through his fingers looked black and angry with smoke. “Sam!” he heard himself yell.

“I’m okay, Dad!”

A hand roughly dragged Mac to his feet, and he realized it was Sam. Sam’s face was covered in soot, or maybe it was just dirt from the nearby flower bed, Mac wasn’t sure. He took the steadying hand that was offered, then stumbled out onto the sidewalk, away from further blasts as the gas main erupted again.

Sam mopped his brow, and then offered Mac a hanky. “Dad, I sure hope you found something in there before it blew, otherwise we just lost any evidence, and I don’t think those guys are gonna be very happy about it.” He jerked a thumb as a black and white cruiser pulled up, shortly followed by a fire department rig, sirens blazing.

Mac patted his pocket. “I got something,” he admitted. “But I’m not sure yet where it will lead us…”

* * * *

Phoenix Foundation Headquarters
L.A. Division

MacGyver sat on the couch opposite Pete Thornton’s desk, fiddling with a pencil while his boss finished up a call. At his side, Sam mirrored his father – except he was fiddling with the new camera he’d been forced to buy when Keenan hadn’t allowed him back into Angelina’s Grace.

After several minutes, Pete finally put the handset down and took a long breath. “It looks like you were right, Mac, someone definitely paid the sheriff to kill Rimmer, the question now is why? I’m betting we have a killer still out there…”

MacGyver sat forward, all interest in the pencil lost. “What’d you find, Pete?”

“It seems the bank payment came from another country – Saudi Arabia, to be exact.” Pete expression said he was baffled. “Why on earth would anyone over there want to frame Jerry Rimmer?”

“Whoa,” Sam agreed. “I didn’t see that coming! I had this all figured out that some local crime lord was probably behind the whole thing and paid Keenan off to get rid of the evidence, burying Jerry in the process.”

Mac ticked up a brow. “Never assume anything, Sam, that’s how mistakes get made.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I gotta admit, it’s not what I expected either, though. Do we have a name on the account that paid out?”

Pete shook his head. “Everything was done through shell accounts, fake names, and fake addresses. It took all the pulling power Phoenix has to get a location. And don’t forget, even if we did have a name, Saudi is a none-extradition country right now – we can’t do anything officially.”

“How about unofficially?” Sam pondered, waving his camera in front of his dad. “I mean, I am a journalist and a dang good photographer to boot, I’m sure I can come up with a reason to be over there?”

Mac nodded, then looked to Pete. “Maybe Phoenix can invent us an assignment about camels and their uses in modern society,” he chuckled.

Pete smiled in agreement. “That sounds like a perfect use of Foundation funds to me…”

* * * *

Unnamed Villa
Khamees Moshait
Saudi Arabia

MacGyver hunkered down outside the metal fencing that surrounded the villa. It had taken a few days to get the appropriate visas to get out here, even with Phoenix’s connections, and a further two days to find the villa.

Sam had visited earlier in the day, taking seemingly innocent photographs, which were actually intel for their return nighttime visit.

Dusk had long come and gone, and the pair were now casing out security – and it was high. Along with a complete perimeter fence, the villa had numerous armed guards garbed in black suits and a plethora of high grade cameras and motion sensor devices. If that wasn’t enough, Mac had also heard the familiar yelp of security dogs that hadn’t been fed.

“This place is locked down tighter than Fort Knox,” Sam commented, taking a few shots with his night lens. “Why would some rich Arab want to kidnap Becca, or frame Jerry?”

Mac pulled a black hood on to match his entirely black garb and shrugged. “We know Rebecca owned her own company, maybe it has to do with a buyout? Didn’t the files say paying the ransom put her company at risk?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, but on the grand scale of things, her company wasn’t exactly a global entity. Big yes, but big enough to kill someone to buy out?”

“Sam, people kill over a buck these days, never mind a few million.” MacGyver sighed as he said it. Life was so precious, so fleeting, how could anyone take it over any amount of money?

But it happened, not rarely, but every dang day.

“Okay, so let’s say Mr. Big who lives here was behind it all, how do we get inside to prove it?” Sam pulled on his own hood, but the way his eyes danced with curiosity through the holes suggested he had no clue what they were going to do next.

Mac’s lips curled into a smile and he retrieved his knife from his pocket. “Oh, y’know, with this as usual!” He tossed it up and then caught it teasingly.

“You’re gonna get through the gate, or over the fence, and distract all those guards, dogs and sensors with just your knife? C’mon, Dad…”

Mac winked. “Watch and learn!” Before Sam could argue, he scooted down a small embankment and carefully came to rest behind a bush at the side of the main entrance. Then, he simply waited, with Sam watching from above.

Eventually, headlights approached from the distance, growing ever-closer until a sleek black Mercedes SL came to a stop next to a state of the art card reader. While the driver swiped their I.D. MacGyver rolled under the car and deftly stuck the large blade of his knife into the fuel tank and gently twisted, widening the hole just enough for a steady trickle of gas to splash out.

The driver’s brow furrowed, as if he’d heard something, and from his vantage point, Sam held his breath as Mac rolled back stealthily into the bush unseen.

The driver shrugged, the gate opened, and he rolled the Mercedes into a parking spot, then entered the villa.

Sam finally joined his dad. “So some rich dude has a gas leak, how does that help?”

Mac again slid his hand into his pocket, this time brining out a match.

“Oh boy!” Finally Sam got the picture. “You’re gonna blow the empty car?”

“Security will be all over it, leaving the rest of the grounds relatively uncovered. And just look what’s next to where the car is parked.” Mac pointed to a small shack. The door was slightly ajar, and inside there were banks of cameras. “I doubt the guy in there will be looking at security footage when the Mercedes goes up!”

Sam still wasn’t convinced. “That’s great, but how do we get in?”

MacGyver paused, thinking on the hoof was great, but it also left a lot of variables you couldn’t always deal with. He hoped tonight wasn’t one such occasion. He quickly looked around, noting a tree of some sort overhanging the fencing a few meters past the entrance.

If they could get up to it, it might work.

Sam noted his gaze. “Hey, that would be great, except its on the wrong side of the fencing.”

Mac wasn’t listening. He’d heard the distant sound of an air horn, and was looking down the sand-covered highway that led past the villa. On the horizon, there were headlights, and they growing closer with every passing second. “I’m betting that’s a tanker from the refinery down the road,” he mused.

“Yeah, how will that help?” Sam wasn’t getting it.

“Because the tanker is high enough up for us to use our belts and snag that tree with them, then up and over the fence with the momentum!” MacGyver was on a roll, and began to carefully jog to the opposite side of the road as if he intended hitching a ride on the approaching Peterbilt.
“Dad…have you seen how fast that thing is moving?” Sam waved his camera at the truck, but then had to quickly let his neck strap take the weight of it as Mac tossed him a match and grinned.

“Light the fuel from the Mercedes, then get over here fast! That driver will slow down, maybe even stop when he sees the explosion. Trust me, it’s human nature!”

MacGyver hunkered down just a little, like a runner at the start line as he waited for his ride.

Sam’s eyes widened as he finally got the picture and he scooted back across the highway, just in front of the villa entrance. Two guards prowled back and forth behind the six foot gate, but they didn’t see him as his gloved hand struck the match, then curled back out of sight.

The trail of gas hissed, then ignited, within seconds arching back to the Mercedes and finding its way up into the punctured fuel tank. As the gallons of gas caught fire, the rear end of the sports car lifted of the ground, its metallic frame bursting outwards in a shower of sparks, flames and twisted metal.

As the guards ran in shock and surprise, Sam rejoined his father, and waited for the tanker.

The truck took another two minutes to arrive, but as predicted, as it approached the billowing wreckage, it slowed to a crawl.

MacGyver didn’t waste a moment and grabbed onto a rail on the trailer, quickly climbing up onto the top of the tanker as the villa security men waved the truck onwards, as if they didn’t want anyone reporting what had happened.

Why?

Sam breathlessly joined his dad as the Peterbilt began to gather speed again. Ahead of them, the tree loomed just seconds away. Without speaking, Mac tore off his belt, watching to make sure Sam did the same.

Then, as the tanker roared back into life down the road, Mac dived at the tree he’d pointed out, hooking the loop of his belt around an outstretched branch and then swinging his body up and over the security fence.

He slammed into the bark of the tree the other side, then slithered down to a lower branch, winded and dazed.

Above, he heard a grunt as Sam did much the same, except hitting even harder. “Can we not do that again, like ever?” The younger man complained, shaking his hand where it had been yanked backwards on impact. “Oh, and the explosion might distract security men and truck drivers, but I doubt it works on dogs. What do we do about that little problem?” He dropped from his perch onto the sandy ground below, brushing himself off as MacGyver followed.

Mac shrugged, but didn’t waste time dusting himself. “Um, we kinda run…as in real fast!” And to prove a point, he dived straight into a sprint across the artificially-lawned perimeter to the nearest wall.

Sam’s eyes widened, then the bark of a Doberman in the distance seemed to make his legs inexplicably move even faster than his father’s.

By the time Sam reached the wall, MacGyver was already unwinding an extra-strong cord from under his shirt. He used it like a lasso, snagging the end around a banister on the balcony above. He tugged on it, testing its hold, then quickly began to climb as the guard dogs barking became more insistent as they grew closer.

As soon as MacGyver vanished from sight, Sam grabbed the cord and followed, stopping to catch his breath halfway up. At the top, his dad gave him a helping hand over, then removed the cord from view, while leaving it attached in case of a quick retreat.

“That was fun – not,” Sam offered, wiping a hand over his brow. “Remind me why we do this again? Whoever lives here has obviously enough money to make us disappear if we’re caught, you know that right?”

MacGyver nodded, heading for what appeared to be the main bedroom anyway. “I know that,” he affirmed. “But I also know Jerry Rimmer was innocent, and whoever lives here helped frame him. We have to know why, and we have to find a way to get justice.”

Sam shrugged. Apparently he didn’t have any arguments on those counts. He pulled out his camera instead, taking random shots of anything that looked interesting.

Mac paused at the bedroom door, surprised by what was inside. This was a woman’s bedroom. There was a dressing table with a huge mirror and lots of makeup. So much makeup, it could have belonged to a Hollywood actress. There were even wigs.

Sam whistled quietly when he got the same view as his father. “Whoa, this place belongs to a woman? Could this whole thing be over a man? Maybe Rebecca made someone jealous?!”

Mac swallowed. The sex of the perpetrator didn’t make them any less guilty, they had to remember that. If this person had framed Jerry, being female shouldn’t change a thing. Whatever her reasons, murder was murder.

“Take a look around, we need proof this person, whoever she is, killed Becca, or had Becca killed, or at least a motive…” Mac moved around the room, taking everything in, no matter how small.

Sam put on some gloves and opened up a wardrobe. It was full of very expensive dresses and the shoe rack that was to die for – to most women, at any rate. But there was nothing here to even suggest the villa owner’s’ name, let alone why they’d kill someone a continent away.

A noise from the adjoining corridor made MacGyver pause mid-step, and he was about to dive for cover when a double sliding door to the room skated open.

There was no time to hide, no time to escape.

Mac sucked down a breath, and apparently sensing their joined fate, Sam stepped up beside him. If the security man entering had a gun, he had every excuse in the book to gun them down, and in this country, he just might get away with it – burglars here still sometimes had appendages chopped off in the market square, and that was on a good day. MacGyver hoped Sam wasn’t aware of that fact.

“Well, well…I don’t often find two handsome men in my bedroom, but then, I doubt you’re here to bring me flowers and announce your undying love.”

MacGyver had expected a burly Arab guard, but instead he was standing face to face with a gorgeous blonde that reminded him of Marilyn Monroe, but with more sass.

This was the mysterious villa owner, but could she really have framed Jerry?