Chapter Fifteen: A Gent Under Cover

MacGyver lifted his arm, now encased in a very large, bulky cast. “Don’t you think you’re overdoing things a little?”

“Not at all. This is the perfect ticket to get you out of the country clean. Bizarre accident—just bad luck. We have media evidence that you’re broken under there… congratulations, by the way… you made the continental European news broadcast.” Gorodisch nodded toward the television, which was on but had the sound turned all the way down. “Plus, with that enormous cast, you'll win the sympathy vote for sure!”

They were in his hospital room, waiting for his release papers so that he could leave. MacGyver sighed and let his head drop back on the pillow. “There goes my Olympic career…” he said, half jokingly. “Coach Maartin is going to go ballistic.”

“He knew that you’d not likely be with the team through the Trials—Maartin is a good sport.” Gorodisch gave Mac a crooked smile before becoming serious again. “He knows what we do is important. This,” he tapped a finger on the plaster that encased MacGyver’s arm from palm to half-way past his elbow, “is going to be your E ticket all the way home... first class, handicap access… red carpet all the way!”

“I don’t feel right taking advantage—” Mac began to say, but Gorodisch quelled him with a glare. “I know… important sensitive information—okay, okay. But I’m giving my seat to anyone who really needs it.”

“Boy scout.” Gorodisch rolled his eyes. “I don’t care; be a tough guy… just don’t take off that cast until you’re in DC. And remember… there’s no hurry. Take a couple of days to rest before you leave. You don’t want to attract any suspicion, but there will be curiosity. Ride it out and maintain your cover. Your traveling papers and tickets are at the Ferry lock box. Just collect them before you leave.”

“What about Natalie's uncle? Will we be able to help him?”

“I have that covered. I made some calls while you were getting checked out—another reason for you to hang around for a couple of days—by tomorrow evening I should be able to furnish the necessary passport and identification. I'll bring them to your hotel room—under the pretext of getting you to sign a waiver of suit against my insurance because of the accident.” He chuckled and adjusted his cabdriver's hat. “By then I will have arranged a plan to get him out of the country.”

“Great. Thanks, man.”

Gorodisch smiled knowingly. “You really like her, don't you?”

MacGyver grinned, tried to smother it with his right hand. “Well... I just want to help...”

“Yeah, whatever.” Gorodisch winked at him.

The nurse walked in just then, a sheaf of papers in her hands. She held up an ink pen like a hypodermic.

Gorodisch transformed instantly into the inconvenienced taxi driver. “And you will be hearing from my boss, you will! I want compensation for the damage to my auto!”

“I wasn’t the one driving, bud,” MacGyver grumbled, signing the papers awkwardly. “Ask your friendly neighborhood insurance agent—if he’ll take your call.” Mac handed the nurse the pen and gave her a pained smile. “Can you arrange for a taxi to take me to my hotel? One with a real driver?” he rolled his eyes toward Gorodisch. The nurse smirked, and Gorodisch began to sputter in wordless indignation.

He plucked the pen from her fingers and scrawled something on the white surface of MacGyver’s cast. He then threw the pen down on the bed and stamped out of the room in a huff.

Because of where it was Mac couldn’t see what Gorodisch had scribbled on his cast, but the nurse’s face reddened when she saw what had been written.

“Oh… my!” She tried to smear the ink with her thumb as she helped MacGyver into the wheelchair to take him out of the hospital. “That is not very nice at all!’

xox

Instead of a cab, MacGyver found Coach Maartin waiting to pick him up in the team shuttle—with most of the team in tow. They noisily cheered until he managed to hush them, pointing at the ‘Quiet! Hospital Zone!’ sign.

He was touched by their display; they were trying to cheer him up, no doubt, thinking that he would be greatly disappointed that he could no longer compete. They were right—he was a little disappointed—and it felt good to let them to show their support. He felt fiercely proud of them all, and he laughed at their bawdy jokes and asked them all to write something on his cast.

There was only time to take their injured teammate back to the hotel before the coach had to have his athletes at their next Trial, but MacGyver was grateful to be dropped at the entrance of the hotel to make his own way to his room. He had some things to arrange and a need to be discreet—and a moping, cast-ridden Olympic drop-out was the perfect cover for the actions he had to take. Gorodisch knew the business well, Mac thought as he dug his room key out of his pocket. But the door was not locked; it stood ajar about an inch, and the light inside was on.

Cautiously, he pushed the door further open and peered inside. Natalya was on his bed, half-curled on her side and apparently asleep.

MacGyver looked up and down the hallway, but there was nobody in sight. His Soviet sweetheart seemed to have given her KGB watchdogs the slip. Closing the door behind him, he listened for a moment and then walked carefully around the room. There was no sign of his room having been rifled or any unwelcome intruders.

He went to the bed and sat on the edge. Natalya stirred.

“Natalie?”

She opened her eyes. MacGyver gave her a reassuring smile, and the next thing he knew, he was being bowled over backwards as Natalya flung her arms around his neck. The weight of the cast overbalanced him and he tipped over the edge of the bed, dragging her with him to sprawl together on the floor.

“Oh! I’m—I’m sorry!” Natalya gasped, landing on top of him.

“It’s okay… it doesn’t hurt.” MacGyver hugged her, one-armed. “Are you okay?”

“I heard what happened—what happened? I mean—you were just here, and then on the news…” she stared at him, touched the cast on his arm carefully. “I was so afraid that they had hurt you—”

“No ‘they’. It was an accident. Nobody to blame—other than the driver!” MacGyver lifted his chin toward the bed. “D’ya think we can carry this show onto the bed? The floor is cold…”

“Yes! Sorry—” She clasped his good arm to help him get up; he let her. “The driver? I thought he was—a friend,” she whispered, glancing around nervously. “Were you followed—followed by those men?”

“No. No it was just a freak thing, Natalie. He lost control and we kissed a bridge. No big deal.” He nodded toward the door. “I figured they were following you, but I didn’t see anyone hanging around outside.”

“Not anymore. It was—” Natalya glanced downward to the left, away from Mac's casted arm- “my coach was concerned about me. I have spoken with him and—he has removed the bodyguards.” The lie that the KGB had made her rehearse felt awkward on her tongue, but MacGyver seemed to accept it.

“Well, I’m glad you got out of the car when you did.”

“But—your arm! Now you will not be able to compete! You must be very upset.”

“Yeah. And no.” He lifted her chin with a finger. “Now I can go sit in the cheering section for you. Speaking of which… why are you here instead of the arena?”

She looked him with exasperation. “I couldn’t! You were—and I thought that I—” she sighed. “I sent my alternate to the competition.”

“Oh, Natalie!” MacGyver hugged her and patted her back. “I’m fine! Just a ding—as my grandfather would say.” He lifted the cast slightly, flapping his lame wing. “Two weeks and I’m good as new. Okay—four weeks.” He amended with a grin as she lifted an eyebrow.

“It must hurt terribly—” she whispered so sympathetically that MacGyver felt like a heel. She kissed his fingers where they poked out of the cast.

“Not terribly… but that is nice,” he added, smiling. She leaned forward and lightly planted her lips on his. “Even better.”

“Okay, I am convinced,” she laughed. “You are all right.”