Heir
Mac is the first of the team to enter the war room, and so is also the first to see the unexpected occupants. Three men are standing with Matty near the screens; their heads are bowed, and their whispers are filtering across the room, untranscribable even to Mac's practiced ears. Mac clears his throat quietly as he steps further into the room, and when Matty lifts her head, Mac raises an eyebrow and gestures to the three strangers. Matty merely nods to the chairs, her eyes returning to the three men almost immediately—the entire silent exchange couldn't have taken more than five seconds. Mac glances over his shoulder at Jack, Riley, and Bozer, shrugging in response to their questioning gazes before walking over to his usual seat. Mac's trio of friends are quick to follow his lead, each taking a seat around the room—other than Jack, who takes up position behind Mac's chair in an instinctive reaction to the intruders—and quietly, warily observing the men and Matty in their discussion.
Mac pulls his eyes away from the conversation a few times in the following minute to look at his friends, judging their reactions to this strange occurance—unannounced guests in the war room is rare, but a summons from Matty at 3 am is even rarer. Jack taps his foot quietly to the beat of whatever song is stuck in his head, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert. Riley carefully pulls her laptop out of her bag and turns it on, preparing herself for whatever Matty throws at her. Bozer catches Mac's gaze and raises an eyebrow, asking a silent question that Mac answers with a slight shake of his head—he has no idea what's going on, either.
After a minute that seems more like an hour, Matty lifts one hand, and the three men fall silent. Matty turns and nods to the four Phoenix agents and the three men follow suit, turning toward the team. Mac looks the three over, and his eyes widen when he takes note of the military uniforms two of the men are wearing and the extensive medals that adorn them.
"Who's your friends, Matty?" Jack asks, eyeing the uniforms apprehensively. Seeing someone in uniform isn't entirely unheard of—Phoenix is a government agency, after all, and they've worked with the armed forces in the past. It's the fact that these uniforms are distinctly British that is setting both Mac and Jack on edge. Combined with the late—or early, depending on how you look at it—hour, this is bound to become one of the strangest missions Mac has ever had.
"This is General Mark Everett of the British Royal Guard, Captain George Marshall of the British Royal Air Force, and Mr. Brendon Chester, current head of the British Secret Intelligence Service," Matty says, nodding to each man in turn as she introduces them. "General Everett, Captain Marshall, Mr. Chester, these are the two men I was telling you about. Ex-Delta Sergeant Jack Dalton and EOD Specialist Angus MacGyver." Upon hearing his military title, Mac stiffens, exchanging a worried look with Jack. Riley and Bozer are quick to draw Mac's eye, wordlessly asking him more questions he doesn't know how to answer.
"It's an honor to meet you, General, Captain, and sir," Jack says stiffly, and Mac is quick to echo the greeting. Whatever's going on here, it's obviously something big. Very big.
"I'm afraid the circumstances surrounding this meeting are not pleasant." General Everett says, his tone halfway between stoic and apologetic. "We contacted several intelligence agencies worldwide, and they all recommended the Phoenix Foundation. As such, we came immediately to your headquarters to request help with a matter of utmost importance."
"When these gentlemen approached me with their case, I knew that you were the ones for the job," Matty adds, sounding almost hesitant. Mac just nods, exchanging another weighted look with his partner.
"And the job is?" Mac presses. Captain Marshall clears his throat, drawing all eyes in the room to him.
"Sixteen hours ago, a Royal Air Force helicopter crashed about 50 miles away from US Bagram Air Base in Afghanistan." Captain Marshall explains. "A team of American soldiers was immediately dispatched to the scene, and all military personnel who were on the helicopter were found dead, except for the co-pilot, who could not be located."
"A search and rescue op?" Jack asks with a frown. "That seems like a job MI6 could handle, why come all the way out to LA?
"This missing copilot, he's important." Mac infers, and all three men are quick to nod in agreement.
"The copilot is Charles, heir apparent to the British throne and currently serving his second tour in the Royal Air Force as a helicopter pilot," Chester says grimly. "As of now, His Majesty has been MIA for almost sixteen hours. It is presumed that he was either taken hostage shortly after the crash or thrown from the helicopter. Until a body is recovered, we are working under the assumption that he is alive, and as such the British public has not yet been made aware of the situation." Mac nods slowly, swiping a paperclip from the bowl on the table and twisting it as he thinks—something tells him he's going to need it.
"Again, why come to Phoenix?" Jack asks curiously. "I mean, you just wasted a good 12 hours coming here. Wouldn't it be better to keep this in-house?"
"Mr. Chester and I were in Afghanistan when we were informed of the crash." General Everett explains. "As of now, only the three of us and approximately a dozen high-ranking officials in His Majesty's Armed Forces are aware that the missing pilot is actually Prince Charles. Neither the British nor American soldiers involved at the crash site were told his identity."
"And by involving MI6, you run the risk of alerting everyone on the base to the fact that the crown prince is missing." Mac surmises. "Coming to us is probably for the best." He continues mostly to himself. "If His Majesty was taken hostage, releasing that information to the public, whether intentionally or not, could incite an international incident." Mac looks up, meeting Matty's eyes and furrowing his brows. "Is there footage of the crash site?" He asks, and Matty nods, smiling softly.
"I was wondering when you were going to ask, Blondie." Matty picks her tablet up off of the table and presses a few buttons, bringing up seventeen photos on the screen. Mac stands, walking over to the screen and flipping his half-finished paperclip sculpture in his right hand while he moves the images around with his left. After a minute, he shakes his head, turning back around to face the rest of the room's occupants and leveling his gaze on Captain Marshall.
"You said the helicopter went down about sixteen hours ago, Captain," Mac says, and the Captain nods. "Do we know the cause of the crash?"
"The helicopter was largely destroyed upon impact, but the working theory is engine failure or a technical malfunction." Captain Marshall explains, but Mac is quick to shake his head— a few theories are running through his head, but a malfunction isn't one of them.
"Nothing failed, sir," Mac says, turning back to the screen. "Riley, can you blow up the picture of the main body of the helicopter?" Riley types rapidly on her laptop, quickly following Mac's instruction. "Now zoom in on the bottom center of the craft, the floor of the cargo bay." Riley's fingers fly across her keyboard, and a moment later the image on the screen punches in, depicting a large, blurred picture of the floor of the interior of the helicopter. "Now enhance that section there as much as you can." Mac points to a slightly darker section of the bottom of the craft, and after a moment the image sharpens. It's still blurry, but the damage is apparent enough to confirm the theory Mac really hoped it wouldn't. Mac nods again as he examines the detail he noticed initially once more, drawing all the wrong conclusions.
He turns back to the room as a whole and points to the darkened patch of metal, biting his lower lip for a fraction of a second.
"The helicopter didn't just fall, it was knocked out of the sky." Mac traces the outline of the scorch marks on the metal and in particular the slightly lighter area in the middle. "There was a bomb right there, one that was weak enough to leave the floor intact but strong enough to bring the helicopter down. Looking at the marks it left behind, I'm guessing a small but powerful IED. The fact that the blast marks are on the interior of the craft means that the bomb was on the helicopter when it took off, maybe stowed by one of the crew members in a box or a large duffel bag." Mac pauses as a new half-baked idea begins to take shape in his mind—an idea he likes even less than the first one. He turns his attention back to Captain Marshall, who straightens. "Is there a list of items recovered from the site?"
"A preliminary one, yes." Captain Marshall confirms hesitantly.
"Riley?" Mac questions, and within thirty seconds a bulleted list is on the screen beside the photograph of the helicopter. Mac skims through the items, opening a few of the accompanying photographs and shaking his head each time as his theory is confirmed once again. With one final look at the image of the destruction, Mac turns his attention back to the Brits. "The crew Prince Charles was transporting, they were EOD, correct?" The three nod, all clearly surprised by Mac's inference. "The bomb that took down this helicopter was placed inside an EOD bag." Mac points to a couple of the evidence photos—one shows a scrap of tan nylon and the other half of an EOD shoulder patch. "This wasn't an accident or a random coincidence, this was an assassination attempt. One of the EOD technicians on that helicopter intentionally set off a bomb, likely in the hopes of killing Prince Charles either in the explosion or in the ensuing crash."
"And yet he's the only one who wasn't at the scene." Bozer points out, and Mac nods, his mouth set in a grim line.
"I don't think Prince Charles was taken hostage," Mac admits. "If he were alive and in the hands of the Taliban, the world would already know. Either he died in the plane crash and his body was taken by rebels who plan to try to sell it back to you or to the highest bidder, or he survived. And if he survived, if he dragged himself out of that helicopter, then he's currently stranded in the middle of an active war zone with nothing but the clothes on his back and an unknown number of serious injuries."
"So you'll help us find him?" General Everett asks, a hint of desperation creeping into his tone. Mac glances at Jack, and Riley, at Bozer, and upon seeing the same determination in all of their eyes, he turns to the Brits and nods.
"Matty, how soon can we get on a plane?"