Part One: Coming Clean
"I don't understand," said Sam, taking a sip of his soft drink.
MacGyver
smiled at his son, then at his friend Pete sitting across the table
from him. "You know, your great-grandfather used to say, 'Knowing is
today's lesson. Understanding is tomorrow's'."
Sam rolled his
eyes in good humour. He loved to hear about Harry-- especially from
Mac-- but summoning anecdotes was a sure sign that Mac didn't want to
answer a direct question; he was aware of what a poor liar he was to
people who knew him well.
"Look, if it's something you can't
talk about for security reasons-- fine," Sam said, "but I don't
understand the need for such secrecy. There are conflicting stories and
I just want to know which one of them is true."
Pete smiled,
turning his head in Sam's direction. "Truth is a versatile thing when
you have done work in national security. But Sam's right, Mac-- there's
no real reason for him not to know."
Mac shrugged, his mouth
full of food. Sam had invited them both over for dinner and had fixed
one of Mac's favourite dishes; grilled trout. It was perfectly
marinated and served with wild rice and lemon. Mac had once suggested
that Sam should hang up his camera and give up photojournalism in
favour of becoming a chef.
Sam waited while he watched Mac chew slowly; smiling because he knew that is father was stalling.
"Just
give me a nod or a sign or something," Sam pressed, dishing his father
some more rice. "There's the story of Jack Dalton's cab and Murdoc, and
then there's the 'camel' story, which I have never heard in its
entirety. If I am forced to guess, I'd say that the camel story is the
real one."
"What makes you say that?" said Pete.
"Lack of
detail, for the most part. Not that I'm saying that the Murdoc story
isn't true--" Sam faltered when he saw the smile on his father's face
fall. Talking about Murdoc usually provoked this response. Even when it
seemed a sure thing that the homicidal maniac who had hunted MacGyver
and his friends for years was dead, he somehow managed to come back
again and again. The last time Murdoc had tried to kill MacGyver, he
had driven off of a cliff and the vehicle had exploded, but the body
had never been found. Sam didn't want to ruin the evening's festive
mood, so he pushed away from that sensitive subject. "I've heard all
about the taxicab and that maniac. In fact, it is the great detail that
suggests that the other story is true. Didn't you say that Harry used
to teach you that a good distraction is more interesting than what
you're trying to hide?"
Mac chuckled, his humour returning
swiftly. "That's right! He did say that to me. But I wouldn't say that
in this case that saying really applies."
Sam gave him a sharp
glance. Was this the sign he was looking for? Pete was beaming, and Mac
was fluffing the rice on his plate with his fork. Stalling again.
"Come
on!" Sam was begging, "tell me about the camel. Is that the true story
of how you and Pete first met, or is it just a joke?"
Mac hung
his head, glanced away from Sam, ran his fingers through his hair, then
glared at Pete, who was laughing quietly. "You're not going to help me
out here, are you, Pete?"
"I can't see any way out of it, Mac. We might as well come clean."
"Well,
if I have to do this then you are going to have to help," Mac growled.
His plate was empty now and he was wishing he had not eaten so
heartily. Good food or not, it weighed heavily within him, like a rock
in his stomach.
Mac pushed himself back from the table and sat
plucking his lower lip. Finally he sighed and threw up his hands.
"Okay. The truth-- if you think that's what you really want to hear.
But Harry was right... the diversion is much more interesting...
"According
to the 'Murdoc story', Pete and I have known each other about twelve
years. But, as you have guessed, we actually met quite a while before
that..."
"Actually, both stories are true," Pete threw in as Mac paused.
"How can both be true? You said you met for the first time in Dalton's cab. How could that be if you..."
"Hey,
do you want me to tell this or not?" Mac asked with playful irritation.
Sam and Pete both held up their hands, giving him the floor to speak.
"Okay. Pete's right; both stories are true. We just left out some key
details. When I met Pete in 1979, he didn't know who I really was, and
I didn't know his real name. You see I used to be in the Air Force.
Special Forces, in fact. I joined after I received my degree in Physics
from UCLA. I had just broken up with a girl and I wanted to see the
world, so I figured that the Armed Forces would be perfect."
"If he were French, he'd have joined the Foreign Legion," quipped Pete. "You're such a romantic, MacGyver!"
"Shut
up, Pete," Mac tossed a balled-up napkin at his friend, which Pete
deflected with his hand; he wasn't completely blind yet. "Anyway, I was
in a unit that specialized in rescue and recovery operations, as well
as threat assessment and bomb defusing and disassembly. We had our
fingers in a lot of pies, you could say," Mac scratched his nose,
coughing lightly. There was a lot that he couldn't say, a lot that was
still confidential. He couldn't even say that he couldn't talk about
certain things. He glanced up and saw with relief that Sam and Pete
both understood.
"Anyway, while I was in the Forces, I... had an
accident." Mac reached up and touched a spot on his head, a long-healed
scar completely hidden by his thick mop of light brown hair. "It was in
Afghanistan, a night drop with a team of paratroopers. We were going in
to rescue some American soldiers and civilian natives. The whole
mission ended up scrubbed because my chute opened late. I hit hard and
didn't get up again." And he rubbed the spot on his head. His fingers
could still feel the scar as if it were fresh, though in truth it had
long ago faded to near-invisibility.
"It took three days and two
rescue helicopters to extract us. I had a concussion and a skull
fracture. Twenty stitches-- thank you very much-- and I couldn't
remember my own name for six weeks. I got tired of people walking into
my hospital room to tell me I shouldn't be alive. That scar is the real
reason I let my hair grow long; they shaved it all off when they
operated. I look ridiculous with no hair," he added, trying to lighten
the mood.
"Did they ever manage to complete the mission that
your unit was originally sent in to do?" Sam asked, pouring a glass of
water for his father.
Mac accepted the water and took a sip.
He set the glass down and then smiled up at Pete. "Oh, yes...
eventually. That's where the real story takes place. You see, one of
the 'rescuers' ended up needing rescued himself..."