F
A N A T I C
by
gm
Thanks, BH, for letting me borrow the Kelly kids and Dora
Bergman
l
Summer 1972
* * * * *
“We’ve got another one.”
The grim announcement fell like a clap
of thunder from a cloudless sky, like glass crashing, shattering to the floor
from a great height. The stunning affect
startled -- a shocking jolt to the men in the quiet office. Steve McGarrett stared at the officer at the
door, Sergeant Duke Lukela, for a moment, his mind taking only a fraction of a
second to register the import of the alarming pronouncement. The character lines in the face of the HPD
officer were more deeply etched today, scored with fatigue worn down from long,
hard days at work. Now, the imprinted
furrows also spoke of misery.
Then the head detective of
Six days ago an explosion at a bar
on
Tensely gripping the steering
wheel, McGarrett listened to radio reports as he sped the black sedan through
the morning streets of downtown
“This is worse than the last two,”
came the funereal pronouncement from Williams. His voice was tight with grim emotion. Quietly, he had endured the drive with fists
clenched, jaw tight, as they listened to the heart-rending police chatter. “They’ve gone too far,” was his final, livid
assessment.
“Yeah,” McGarrett barely breathed.
“Their MO is shifting,” Williams
spat out.
McGarrett pondered that
observation as he took a corner so fast they skidded into the next lane. Correcting the big Mercury with a jolt, he raced
through the streets now almost cleared of normal traffic because of the heavy
flow of emergency and police vehicles dashing through the roadways.
“I’m not sure,” he thoughtfully
responded, an ugly, gut-wrenching theory coalescing in his brain. For days they had been searching for motive.
The explosives, the method, seemed to tie in the first two bombings. Motive – they had guessed it was military
related -- possibly some kind of violent and ruthless protest against the
Vietnam War. A city bus – this was
beyond a strike at the government symbolism.
“This could be part of their twisted method.”
“Civilians! People on their way
to work! Kids!”
“Yeah, Danno,” he nodded, his
throat dry with disgust. “Yeah. Che identified
the explosives as Chinese, remember?”
“Made in
“And we thought it was a personal
gripe against the military.”
“No claim of credit like the usual
grandstanding psychos with a platform,” Williams mused, reiterating aloud some
key points of discussions already traded many times in the past week. He took his eyes off the squad cars racing
ahead of them and studied his boss.
“What do you think now?”
“I’m wondering if THIS is their
message. The bombings. Whoever they are, they’ve got our
attention. I’m worried that now that
they’re moving to soft targets they’re more insidious and dangerous than we
expected. They might have already moved
on to something else, something so subtle we can’t identify it as terrorist
attacks.”
Williams stared at him for a
moment, as if divining what he was thinking.
“The stabbings.”
Random knife attacks had occurred
over the fortnight; Ala Moana Mall, a sidewalk bazaar in Little Tokyo, a street
fair at
“Why?” Williams gasped, shaking
his head.
“Panic, fear, striking
terror in the heart of civilians.” Soft targets they were known as in military
parlance. The cliché definition sickened
him as much as the violence. It seemed
wrong to delegate these murder victims with the white-washed lingo of
collateral damage or soft targets. They
were people, citizens of his state, men, women and children who were his
responsibility. “What better way to
strike out at the heart of your enemy?”
“What a nightmare,” the younger
man sighed. “If you’re right, Steve,
then there is an organized terrorist campaign.
Designed to hit at the fabric of our society so no one
feels safe on the streets again.”
“Insidious evil,” the leader
snarled. “Destroy the foundation of
“Bring the taste of war to us.”
“Mmmm,”
McGarrett’s lip twitched in revulsion.
Slamming to a stop a half-block
away from the flames and smoke, wedged behind three HPD squad cars, McGarrett
and Williams leaped out of the Mercury and jogged along with the other
officers. Chin Ho Kelly, Lukela, and
Five-0’s newest detective, Ben Kokua, were just behind them.
The sounds of sirens echoed
through the district, drowning out only the most strident shouts. The crackle of flames, the commands, the
cries for help, the painful weeping, smudged into a background blur of
indefinable noise. Smoke clogged the
atmosphere and obscured the blue sky, tingeing the sunlight brown. Ash drifted like grey snow and littered the
street and cars and dark blue HPD uniforms with fluffy particles. The air choked heavy from the rank odors of
burning; fuel, rubber, buildings, bodies.
Usually on the scene of a crime
quickly following a murder, robbery, or break in, this was different. McGarrett cleared the knot of officers in
front of him and came to an abrupt halt, aghast at the sight. It was not often he had come upon such a
scene and momentarily the intense, crisis-survival trauma took his breath
away.
Fire fighters were dousing flames
that shot around and consumed part of the block of stores in the small line of
shops along the side street off of King.
Several vehicles were twisted and burning. The bus that had exploded was charred,
warped, devastated.
Cleared out of live bodies, the gutted hull was now being soaked to
quench the smoldering fires. Rescue
personnel thankfully had removed some victims who were being treated on the
street or sidewalk until abstraction by ambulance.
Duke Lukela was the first to move
forward and join in on the rescue operations, followed by the unit’s Chinese
detective, Chin Ho Kelly, who’s usually affable face
reflected a deep empathy for the wounded.
Ben Kokua, a broad-shouldered, athletic man of Samoan descent, quickly
veered to the right and carried a dazed, wandering, injured woman to the curb,
then held a cloth to her bleeding arm.
Williams ran over to a teenager who stumbled in erratic circles, oblivious
to a bleeding head wound. The young officer,
his still boyish face reflecting the profound horror of the moment, directed
the young girl sit on a bus bench. Then
he shouldered out of his jacket to wrap it around her shaking shoulders.
This was not his usual
after-the-fact arrival, but a first response situation, and McGarrett did not
hesitate to do his part. He joined two
patrolmen trying to pry a man out of a car.
His instincts – to gather clues and evaluate the crime scene – had to
take secondary consideration to life-saving crises. Warmed at the selflessness of his colleagues,
he saw all of his Five-0 detectives, and the HPD men, working to help and
joined in without thought.
While he labored to give aid to
others, he assessed the bus, the damage to the buildings, the victims, with professional
attention. Survivors. Many were maimed, burned, badly injured, but
there were at least a dozen living men and women who seemed to have been on the
bus. Several others, like the man from
the wrecked car, were secondary victims/survivors from the blast. That was not only gratifying from a
humanitarian aspect, but from an investigative standpoint. It meant the police had potential witnesses. People who could help piece together how
events unfolded this morning.
Eyes moist, Steve felt touched
beyond words as he surveyed the tragedy that was now shifting to an aftermath
status – wounded removed, flames extinguished.
Several draped figures on the curb attested to murder victims. Heartbreakingly, a few of the cloth-covered
forms were small, denoting deceased children.
Lips quivering, he had to look
away. The tragic, still figures sending shock waves right down to his
marrow. Studying the street scene, he
was overcome with a different kind of emotion; a wave of gratification and honor. The selfless dedication of his men humbled
him. Chin already had his notebook out
and was talking to a patrolman whose shirt looked charred – the man probably
one of the first on the scene. Ben and
Duke were talking with the Fire Chief.
Danno was at the rear of the exploded bus, lifting a piece of metal with
a handkerchief. Shaking his head with
amazement at his committed staff, he walked over to join his second-in-command.
Williams’ yellow shirt and tan
trousers were smudged with soot and blood, his tie gone. When he looked up at McGarrett’s approach,
his face was smeared with similar markings as his clothes, but more evident
because of the tear-tracks down the cheeks.
The eyes, however, were now clear and decisive; no longer weeping with
sorrow, but resolute with the quest for justice.
Crouching down beside his officer,
he quietly placed a firm hand on the slighter man’s shoulder and asked, “Danno,
how are you doing?”
A shared look acknowledged they
both understood the deeper meaning of the inquiry. Williams nodded somberly. “Okay.
This is a rough one, though,” his voice trembled slightly. “You?”
“Ready to get
these animals.”
“Yeah.”
“What do you think?” he gestured
to the metal in Williams’ hands.
“I think we caught a break this time,”
he replied, his face brightening. “As
you’ve noticed, the front half of the bus, and passengers, survived.”
McGarrett noted that much of the
vehicle by the driver’s section was still intact. “Lucky.
Maybe someone saw something.” He
gestured to the warped frame they stood beside.
“The bomb was in the back of the bus.”
“And no question it was a
bomb.” Williams stood and walked around
the wreckage, pointing out significant details to his boss. “Placed on the side and in
the back.”
Doctor
“I know, Doc. You and every politician and reporter on the
island are breathing down my neck.”
“Most days your job is one I’d
never trade for, Steve.” He shook his
head at three small sheet-draped forms on the sidewalk -- the children. “Today, though, I might make the swap.”
McGarrett patted his
shoulder. “We’re going to stop them,
Doc. I promise.”
“Just hope it’s soon,” he sighed
and moved to start his dismal task.
* * * * *
The rest of the morning passed
with a blur for McGarrett. Preliminary
witness statements were scanned between urgent phone calls from the Governor
and sundry officials down the bureaucratic line. Those tasks were fielded
between interviews with representatives from FBI, CIA, NI, AI, and various
other less official initials. All these
were interspersed around dodging calls or run-ins with the media and
cooperative, even useful individuals who had reason to be involved with the
case.
When Sergeants Lukela and Kamekona dropped in with reports, he assigned the HPD
liaison officers to check into tying the bombings to the stabbings. He admitted it might be a wild theory, but
instinctively felt it was starting to come together in the back of his mind and
needed attention. Usually he would not
put forth a vague idea like this without more substantial evidence, and usually
only to Danno or his core staff. But the
detectives were all stretched thin now and any help was welcome. Besides, HPD was the first line of
investigation on the stabbings and they would have a better handle on the cases
than Five-0.
The bombings were a tragic crisis
for all citizens of
By late afternoon the exhausted
detectives gathered in McGarrett’s office.
They had managed to clean up and change clothes after the on-scene
activities, but the strain of the newest violence in the case remained clinging
to their emotions as strongly as the smoke stench clung to their skin.
“There’s not much of a common
thread in the witness statements,” Williams commented as he leafed through the
papers in hand. “What did you want me to
check?”
Searching for some previously
scribbled notes, McGarrett absently responded.
“One of the last passengers to board. Sat at the rear of the bus. Thin, Oriental man. Wore a headband.”
The sandy hair was ruffled, a
habit of frustration, as the younger detective scanned the files. “Yeah, a few pegged him. You think he’s the bomber? No one noticed if he got off. Maybe he went up with the bus?”
“Maybe.” Blowing out a deep
sigh of air, McGarrett shook his head.
“We’ve got so little to go on.
A commotion in the outer office
snagged his attention, and he looked to Williams, who was sitting on the edge
of the desk consulting a clipboard stacked with notes. The younger officer shrugged his mutual
confusion. Curiosity not strong enough
to interrupt their work, a knock at the door indicated they were destined to be
disturbed regardless of his wishes.
Without invitation, someone opened
the door. McGarrett was truly surprised
when two Oriental children ran in, followed quickly by two teenage girls who
peeked around the door. The little boy
and girl, Win and Joy Kelly, rushed over to McGarrett’s desk in a race to
deliver brown paper sacks. Scolds from
the teens were ignored as the two young children bounced up and down with
excitement, talking at once about their proffered gifts.
“We baked the cookies
ourselves!” Win, the boy announced,
yanking a plastic wrapped bundle from the bag.
“For you too, Danny,” Joy told the
younger officer and pushed the second bag into his hands.
“All for me?” Danny asked as he knelt down and accepted a big hug from
the little girl.
Win leaned close to both
detectives. “You better eat them quick
or the girls will make you eat your lunch first.” Protectively, he scooted close to the head of
Five-0. “Steve is gonna eat the cookies,
Suzy. We can come get lunch later.” Helpfully, he started unwrapping the plastic
covering.
Suzy, one of the older teens in
the family, and her best friend, Kelly, waved to the officers. Apologizing for the interruption, Suzy placed
two more sacks on the desk. “We knew dad
would be working late on this case, so we brought food for everybody.”
The boss glanced at the clock,
amazed most of the day had whisked away on the fleeting wings of intense
work. Lunchtime had evaporated in the
blur of the time warp of activity. “We
appreciate it, Suzy. Thank you.”
“You’re lifesavers,” Williams
smiled at the girls.
“You didn’t act quick
enough,” Win rebuked the detectives.
“Now you have to eat the sandwiches with lettuce and tomatoes first
before they let you have the cookies!
Yuck.”
“We appreciate it anyway, Win,”
McGarrett laughed and ruffled the boy’s hair, especially touched at the
thoughtful children who were so vibrant and alive, in shocking contrast to the
horrors they had seen this morning. “Did
your mother come?” he asked Suzy, hoping pleasant conversation with these
beguiling youngsters would shove away the memories of the most recent bombing.
“She’s out visiting with dad.”
“Are you kids out of school
already?” he absently checked the desk clock again, watching the numbers click
from Two-oh-four to Two-oh-five.
“It’s a holiday!” Joy shouted out
with a little dance.
Williams looked to the older girls
with a silent question.
“The schools got out early
today. You know -- the – uh – everyone’s
a little nervous,” Suzy shrugged.
Win made a sour face. “She’s trying to tell you people are afraid
because of some bad things that have happened.
So they let us out of school.”
His smile spread from ear to ear.
“I’m not afraid.”
Steve exchanged looks with Danny,
both struck by the gravity of the panic hitting
“Everyone’s pretty scared,” Suzy
replied.
Always level headed and practical,
she was the child of Chin’s who came here the most, who had established the
strongest relationship with the Five-0 staff.
In his light-hearted moments he attributed this to the girl’s obvious
crush on Danno, but that was something not even he would joke about, especially
around Chin.
“They don’t feel safe out on the
streets.”
The somber tone clued McGarrett
into the underlying reasons for the visit.
This was not just because of the time off school. The visit was to touch base with the Kelly
patriarch, to reassure the ohana that their dad was all right – that everyone
at Five-0 was still safe – and that they were working hard to right the wrongs
leveled at women and children just like them.
“It’s a scary time,” Dan
sympathized, “but we’re going to get them Suzy-Q, don’t worry.”
“I know you will,” she smiled
confidently.
“Mahalo, honey,” Steve thanked her
with a hug.
The detectives exchanged glances again,
silently communicating that they both shared a humble desperation at the visit,
at the faith entrusted to them by those they loved. By many in
Williams followed his boss out to
the main office and gave a quick hug to Mai Kelly. The two smallest Kelly children, twins Amy
and Dina, were playing with paper clips and rubber bands at Jenny Sherman’s
secretary desk. Ben was crouched down at
eye level with the much shorter teen Alia, who was unwrapping
some goodies from a knot of plastic wrap.
“Looks like you have your hands
full with the kids today,” Danny smiled at the amazing mother who managed to
keep her sanity while being the wife of a Five-0 detective and the mother of
eight.
“That’s why we baked cookies. Keeps them busy.”
Close by, Alia took one of Ben’s
cookies and handed it to Dan. “They’re
coconut, Macadamia nut.”
“Some of them have chocolate,
too,” Suzy pointed out as she joined the group, handing him a coco colored
sweet.
Considering the violence stressing
the world outside these walls, Williams was hit with a poignant wave of strong
ohana sentiment as he watched the kids interact with detectives who had, just
hours ago, paced along the draped bodies of children so much like them. It was a sobering moment, one of many
routinely experienced by service personnel, but especially forceful since the
bombings began.
It drove home to him that this was
not just a despicable crime against his homeland, but against families and
people and kids just like the ohana he loved.
Renewed with a sense of justice and commitment, he silently vowed, as he
watched the scene, that he would do everything possible to bring the murderers
to justice.
McGarrett came up beside his
second-in-command, and, with a wry smile, wondered of the teenager. “Don’t you
have a cookie for me?”
Alia blushed and shook her head.
A significant look was exchanged
between the boss and the mother, then both smiled at Williams. The younger detective felt himself blush,
clearly reading their silent implications that the girls were clamoring for his
attention. Was it better to just ignore
the attention and mute teasing, or should he defend himself? Catching the wicked glint in Steve’s eyes, he
figured he better use caution and change the subject.
“I love coconut, Macadamia nuts
and chocolate,” he complimented diplomatically, taking a bite of each cookie.
“I’m sure your father and ALL the
staff appreciate the goodies,” Mai assured as she gave
a gentle push to her daughters.
Both lead detectives accompanied
Chin Ho and Mai in rounding up the kids and escorting them to their old,
crowded station wagon. It was an
unspoken act of protection from their mutual concern in this atmosphere of
heightened fear. While Chin said
good-bye to his brood, Steve and Dan walked slowly back up the steps of the
Palace to return to the office.
“Danno, I’m worried the panic
could get out of hand. I’m going to
discuss a press conference with the Governor.
I want you to get some answers from Che.”
“Right.” At the top of the
steps Williams stopped before he opened the front doors. “Steve, if they’re closing schools, the panic
has already started.”
“I know. All the more reason to
solve this as quickly as possible.”
* * * * *
With a little more tact than his
boss had been able to manage since the bombings began, Williams patiently
requested an update from Che on the analysis of evidence. The lab chief showed the second-in-command
into a storeroom where a reconstruction of debris was underway. Bits and pieces, large and small, of bus
fragments, parts of cars, buildings, were arranged on the floor of the large
basement room. With a little
imagination, one could make out the vague pieces and outlines of the bus and
two cars from the wreckage.
A qualified expert about
explosives and bombs, Williams noted with interest the obvious clues already
apparent in the fragmented puzzle. “The
bomb was at the back of the bus,” he confirmed as he studied the blast hole
that ripped and warped a side panel and included part of the emergency exit
door. “It wasn’t all that powerful, was
it?”
“Not in and of itself,” Che
concurred. “It ignited the gas tank and
the bus went up.” He crouched down next
to several fragments. “This is where the
bomber must have been standing.”
“Or sitting.”
“No, he was standing,” the shorter
Oriental assured. When Williams glanced
at him with raised eyebrows, he continued.
“Part of a hand was fused to the handle of a backpack, AND the hand rail
that runs at the top of the bus.”
“Part of a
hand!”
“Doc has it now. I analyzed the material that was fused to the
skin. It was something already in our
data base from the last bomb. The analysis
just came back a few minutes ago. The
charred clothing is North Vietnamese Army issue.”
“Wow!”
“I’m not done,” he smiled
triumphantly. “I’ve had my boys working
double time all morning. Added with what
we were collecting from the first two bombs, we have some good data for you.”
He stood and led the detective
over to the main lab. On one of the
tables were fragments of charred debris.
Williams’ eyes were drawn to a small piece of warped metal with the
obvious pieces of a clock. Amazing how
even at ground zero some remnants were left intact. Lucky break for the
investigators.
“Timer.”
“Yes, there was more left of this
than the last one. I’m guessing all
three were set with similar explosives.
We haven’t finished the tests from today’s blasts to be sure yet.”
With a metal rod, Williams poked
at the remains of the bomb. Familiar
components were there, attached to a metal plate that kept snatching up the
rod. “Magnetized. That’s how they were going to attach it to
the bus, I bet. Something went wrong and
it went boom.” He sorted through the
particles. “Crude. Not slick.
A professional operation with unsophisticated
material. Effective – put
together by someone who knows what they’re doing, but not with advanced
technology.”
The phone rang and Che answered
it, muttered a few affirmatives then hung up.
“Steve is on his way to Doc Bergman’s and wants you to meet him at his
car.”
“Thanks, Che,” the younger man
waved as he trotted out the door.
* * * * *
Williams caught his boss in the
lobby of the Palace as McGarrett was jogging down from the upper level and he
was striding upstairs from the lab. In
curt words shot out as he hastened to keep up with the longer, agitated stride
of the head of Five-0, he related Che’s stunning
information.
“North
Vietnamese?” Steve repeated,
his hand on the knob of the ornate, etched glass front door.
“Adds up with
the Chinese explosives.”
Guiding with a firm hand on his
shoulder, McGarrett urged them to the car.
Once inside the vehicle, he started the engine and screeched out of the parking
lot. Only part of his attention was on
driving.
“Without jumping to conclusions,”
the leader started, “let’s look at this as we always do with every
investigation. Theories
fitting the facts.” He listed
what they knew of the MO, the manufacture source, the victim-pattern, the new
inclusion of the clothing. “Someone
copying the terrorist bombings used by the VC against our troops,” he
speculated as he whipped into the parking lot of the ME’s office. “OR, not copying, but CONTINUING,” he
emphasized as he turned off the engine but remained in the car.
“North
Vietnamese bombing
“And bringing the war to our home
front,” he grimaced, shaking his head in disgust. “I saw it in
The suggestion sent chills along
his spine. “Besides murdering Americans
– military and civilian – they might think it would demoralize the troops and
the country.”
A wry smile played at his
lips. “Yeah, Danno, we are on the same
track. What historic event does it
remind you of?”
“
“Close enough. If they think this will turn Americans
against the war, they are going to have a rude awakening.”
“Pretty lolo
for them to try it here in
Aside from the still visual scars,
physically and emotionally, from that terrible day,
“They’re not making friends for
their cause by killing women and children and guys on their way to work. That just won’t cut it no matter what
Hawaiians or anybody else thinks of the war.”
“You got that right,
bruddah.” McGarrett nodded for a
thoughtful moment. “Let’s keep this to
ourselves for right now, Danno, until we have a few more pieces of the puzzle. But I’m betting it’s all going to add up to
dangerous insurgents infiltrating our paradise.”
Inside the coroner’s domain, they
spotted the grim ME. The autopsy room
and adjacent facilities were over-crowded with sheet-covered gurneys. Several lab-coated med techs unfamiliar to
McGarrett were helping with paperwork. A
slight, gray-haired woman in a nurse’s uniform spun from the counter and nearly
bumped into the tall detective. She
sprang back instantly with a gulp of surprise.
“Oh, Steve!”
McGarrett placed his hands on the
thin shoulders of Mrs. Bergman. “Dora. Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She gave a warm smile to Williams
and looked back to the officer who released his hold on her. “I didn’t expect you two down here with the
peasants.”
The sweet, fifty-ish woman was temperamentally and physically an opposite of
her ME husband, but the couple had long been a
“I’m helping out down here on my
break.”
“You’re too good,” Williams told
her with an accompanying hug.
“At least you got some
nourishment,” she approved as she poked the younger officer in the ribs. “I was worried no one from your neighborhood
would surface for days. Mai said she was
going to send in some supplies.”
“And she did,” Williams
smiled. “I detect a conspiracy.”
“Maybe,” the older woman
smiled. “Someone has to watch out for
you men.”
Bergman finished his consultation
with one of the assistants and joined them, thanking his wife. Then he doled out an admonition that she
should get back to her own duties while he discussed important business with
Steve but she scoffed and gave him a shove, then a kiss on the cheek.
“I gave up my break to help. I expect a little more appreciation.”
“Oh, I know you’ll present me with
the bill later,” the husband intoned with a sigh. “Dinner at some expensive
place with miniscule portions of unknown goods.”
She winked at the policemen. “He thinks he’ll get off that easy?” She gave both Steve and Dan light hugs. “Take care, you two.”
Bergman led the officers into a
back area of the morgue. “It’s a war
zone!” Disgusted with the violence, he
lectured them, spilling out his own wrath over the bloody rampage. “I haven’t seen anything this bad since
McGarrett traded a knowing glance
with his colleague before they entered the vault room where numerous bodies
were crowded on metal tables. All the
corpses were covered with sheets and tagged on the toes – those who had
toes. His lip rippling with disgust,
McGarrett pushed his reactions behind a mask of iron will. His job was to bring justice to these victims
and he couldn’t do it if he allowed his objectivity to slip. Stay focused, stay on the job, and they would
have time to mourn later.
“What have you got for us, Doc?”
At the farthest corner of the room
was a counter laden with a number of articles, misshapen and charred, lined in
rows and tagged with small notes. The
experienced medical man uncovered a small tray.
On it was a molten, black object that, if stylized in a Dali sculpture,
might be reminiscent of something with digits.
Melded around a piece of warped metal, was indeed a hand, the chief
detective admitted silently as he studded the form. Protruding from slender – what could be
fingers – was a metal rod, and wrapped around part of the lump was what
imaginatively might be thought of as a watch band. Unable to contain his distaste at the object
or the stench, he drew away.
Grimacing, Williams studied the
artifact for a moment. “The guy had a
watch,” he deduced. “And he WAS holding
onto the rail, huh?”
“Indeed,” Bergman nodded, satisfied his dramatic flair was appreciated and
understood. “Now for the real stunner,”
he almost smiled in a sourly grim expression.
He brought over a metal bowl and with a medical instrument pushed around
tiny objects. “Teeth,” he
explained. “Che’s
boys found them at the rear of the bus.
Note the coverings on the molars?
Chinese dental work!”
McGarrett inhaled a soft
gasp.
“See the way the gold has melted
to stick the teeth together. Anyway, we
got confirmation of the amalgamation from Che’s
dentist. Doctor Wan thinks it is probably Vietnamese dentistry, but there’s not
enough left to be certain.” He returned
to the hand, and again impressed his audience.
“Of what’s left, I was able to find one finger that still had a
fingerprint.”
“Wow,” Williams exclaimed.
“I’m impressed,” the head of
Five-0 smiled.
“I was able to remove part of the
watch. Che took it over to the university
lab to try for an analysis and give us a manufacturer.” He brought over a magnifying lens. “If you look closely on the face, which was
protected by a piece of skin that had melted over it, you’ll see . . . .”
He awaited a reaction and was not
disappointed. McGarrett gave a low
whistle, then handed the lens to Williams, but did not wait for a second
opinion. “Chinese
characters.”
“I leave the deductions to you
boys,” Bergman leaned back on his table, his arms crossed. “But I don’t think I would be intruding far
into your territory by guessing we are dealing with insurgents from a foreign
power.”
Williams looked at him, and
McGarrett read the expression that his colleague felt they could let Bergman in
on the recent discussion. Their theories
were lining up and the evidence supported looking in the direction of
“That’s something we’re thinking,
too, Doc,” he confirmed. “We’ll let you
know.”
“Just catch them, Steve. They have to be stopped before this gets any
worse.”
“I know, Doc. We all know that too well,” he considered as
he stared at the chared remains from the bombing.
The walk to the car was spent in
solemn silence, but Williams knew, with a certainty born of familiarity with
his boss, that they were thinking the same thing. To some unknowledgeable with the head of
Five-0, he might appear prone to leaping to conclusions. Those who worked closely with him knew just
the opposite; the brilliant investigator and shrewd, intuitive cop sometimes
clued into the important theory with little or no evidence. McGarrett possessed the gift of foresight in
anticipating criminal behavior and linking inferences together from thin,
apparently nonexistent, sometimes seemingly invisible evidence, to arrive at
the truth.
Confident, on a subliminal level,
that his friend and he were already on the same wavelength, the younger officer
began. “North Vietnamese fanatics targeting the
“I think that is the angle we have
to look at, Danno. Bringing the war to
the
“It’s sick!” he spat out in
disgusted revulsion. “These are innocent
people! Kids and women and guys who have
nothing to do with the war –“
“I know –“
“When we get our hands on them –“
“They will be afforded every right
according to our constitutional laws,” the sharp voice echoed demandingly in
the small confines of the car.
Williams took a breath to continue
venting his frustration and anger, but a glance at his boss told him it was
time to end the emotional tirade.
“Yeah,” he breathed out after a moment, reluctantly shaking his head. “Right.”
“These fanatics are murderous
butchers,” McGarrett sympathetically agreed, “but we go by the rules here,
Danno. As much as we’d like to go after
them with our bare hands, we stay on the right side of the law.” He patted his friend’s shoulder. “I know you know that.”
“Yeah,” he agreed with a
sigh. “It’s better than fanatics like
this deserve.”
“Probably, but that’s not our
call. We are only the ones who hunt them
down and catch them. Prosecution and
execution of the law fall into other hands.
And we’re going to do our job before anyone else gets killed.”
“I know.”
Gravely somber, McGarrett looked
into his eyes with grim intent. “We are
better than they are, Danno. They are
trying to drive us apart with their violence.
They hope to put a wedge through
“We’re stronger together than
apart,” he almost smiled. “They don’t
understand here in the
“You got that right, bruddah,” he
grinned, squeezing his friend’s shoulder.
“Danno, you know Ben a little better than I do. How are his contacts?”
The change in subject startled
him, and after a moment he replied that he knew Kokua was great in HPD and
should have a lot of local snitches and contacts. “He’s kamaaina like
me,” he considered of the newest member of the unit. “Born and raised in a little tougher area of
Not as good as Kono did, probably,
McGarrett thought, but did not voice. It
still stung him to think of Kalakaua, the affable, broad Hawaiian who had been
with him for years, deserting Five-0.
Marrying, then deciding to move to the
“We’ll get Ben on his street
people,” he focused back to the conversation.
“And Chin. And Duke. We’ll need to hit the Chinese, the Asian
community, the Vietnamese refugees – but the ones we can trust.”
“That’s a short list,” Williams
sighed wryly. “And I think they’ll all
be Chin’s relatives.”
“Then we’ll sponsor a feast at their
favorite restaurant and get them to spill everything they know,” he threatened
as he started the car.
* * * * *
Ben Kokua had worked with Five-0
since the incident with that pupule chic that kidnapped Danny {fanfic – Deadly Ever After}. After that, his occasional work with Duke
Lukela in support of the state police unit increased. So when it was time to fill Kono’s suddenly
vacant slot, he was a natural candidate.
Duke Lukela had been McGarrett’s first choice, but he had declined. Then Lukela recommended Kokua, who was met
with McGarrett’s approval, fortunately.
It was the most prestigious promotion in the law enforcement ranks in
Trotting down the steps of the
Palace to meet with Danny Williams, Kokua felt he could not have done better
for himself; for his future, his family, his career. He was included in the best of the best in
Five-0 and vowed to work triple time if necessary to solve this case before
more people were murdered.
* * * * *
At the edge of old
Duke wondered if it lent to their
tenacious faithfulness to culture and relations. Since his days as a beat cop he had come to
know and love many of the Asians here.
The older generation spoke broken English, but sent their sons and
daughters to Universities here or on the mainland, sometimes to other countries. He knew Chin Ho had many hui – calabash cousins – translated from Hawaiian
meaning a loose association of family and friends -- who were like family. Ohana was another way to phrase it, a
sentiment easily understood by anyone raised in the
This would be the third stop for
them on this bright, crisp afternoon. As
the close, brick buildings blocked off the Trades from the nearby ocean, he
could still smell the salt in the air and scent of the nearby river running
through the old urban area. These
buildings were as old as the traditions favored by the ethnic groups
surrounding the old neighborhoods.
After strolling on the street,
Chin mostly doing the talking in Chinese, they stopped at a shop Lukela knew
well. “Vi’po,”
he told the woman, and gave the elderly man the same revered title for
grandfather.
The Chiangs
had been keeping this small shop of Chinese herbs and groceries for more years
than anyone knew. When Duke first walked
a beat here they were well established.
Always friendly and supportive of the police, he was not surprised to
learn they were relatives of Chin Ho Kelly.
Their English was good enough that the conversation was conducted in his
language out of politeness.
“
“What are the rumors?” Chin asked.
“Bombers want to target Chinese,
coconut wireless say –“
The woman scoffed loudly and shook
her head, muttering sharp words in Mandarin.
She turned to Duke and translated, “No believe street talk. Many scared and talk no sense. Wise ones listen and watch and learn. Mainland Chinese. Communists.” She spat on the floor. “Old tactics.”
The elderly man broke in and made
a few statements in the tongue of three out of four of them, then gave a nod to
the Hawaiian. “Many infiltrate from
Mainland. Spies in
community. Punish those at home,
demoralize warriors fighting far away.
Old trick.”
“You mean
“We will listen better,” the man
promised.
After amicably leaving, with sacks
full of delicious fruits, the officers walked to their vehicle parked on the
next street. Once inside, Chin related
that his older cousin said the Vietnamese refugees crowding into
* * * * *
Little
Stopping at a street corner café
that offered a blend of Chinese, Hawaiian and Thai foods, the detectives
perused the lunch menu. Settling on some
snacks, they slipped into a back table with lo mein
and teriyaki chicken as they sipped soda pop and watched the people on the
street. Dan had been impressed with
Ben’s sharp interrogative technique with the shop keepers and vendors they
talked to so far. The Samoan knew his
way around snitches and witnesses and had a comfortable manner with
interrogation, and a tough side for the people who needed a little leaning.
“This isn’t bad,” the larger man
nodded as he munched on the noodles. “My
Sarah makes a great saimin, though, Danny, you’re gonna
to have to try it sometime.”
Although the two detectives
crossed paths a bit previous to Kokua joining Five-0, Williams had never been
to their home. The relationship would
alter slightly now with the Samoan officially part of Five-0. The inclusion went for the whole family, not
just the officer. The Kokua ohana had
been to the office and formally met the detectives when Ben came on earlier
this summer. From tidbits of overheard
conversations, Dan knew Jenny, Doris Lukela and Mai Kelly had taken Sarah Kokua
under their wings to initiate her to the life of Five-0 dependents. There had been a weekend luau, hosted by the
Lukelas, two weeks ago that mingled everyone, including the Bergmans and the Fongs, who worked within the Five-0 ohana. Ben seemed a good fit into the detective
manifest, and Sarah a good cop’s wife.
“Didn’t she make that for the
luau?”
“I don’t know,” Ben sheepishly
admitted, “I just know there was such ono kau kau that day I ate way too
much.”
“Yeah.”
It had been a perfect Saturday
afternoon at
Williams noted his distracted
companion watching a little boy and his mother at the next table. Kokua smiled at the antics of the youth
eating with chopsticks. He had probably
been taught in the art of his ancestors for years, but the slippery noodles
were proving a little taxing for his coordination. Ben’s smile gradually faded and he faced
Williams with a sober expression.
“What else can we do to get these
guys, Danny?” he wondered, his voice deep with intent. “Sarah’s worried. So am I.
She wants me to tell her where it’s safe, what places she should avoid,
but there’s no where I can tell her to hide and I’m a cop! I’m supposed to be protecting my family!”
“I know, Ben,” Dan responded with
tense resolve. “We WILL get them. You know how hard we’re working –“
“Every man I know is willing to
put in overtime for this,” the newer detective countered.
“I know.” With Five-0 spearheading the case, the whole
staff was burdened by the extreme hours and added tension. No one knew that better than the
second-in-command, who was seeing to his tasks, plus doing what he could to
diminish the workload on the habitually obsessed boss. “That’s what we’re doing on the streets today.”
“It doesn’t seem to help much.”
Dan didn’t respond to the
negative, if truthful assessment. He
needed to keep them focused on their goal.
“We’ve touched base with almost every informant you know down here. Maybe we need to move uptown.”
The Samoan brightened. “You have someone in mind?”
“Yeah, I know a shifty guy who’s
as slippery as a jelly fish, but has some pretty solid information when you can
pin him down.” He grabbed some money out
of his pocket and started counting the bills and change. “Problem is, he’s
expensive. How much cash you got on
you?”
Grimacing, Ben emptied his pockets
on the table.
Smirking, Danny shook his
head. “You’re more broke than I am.”
“Of course I am,
I’m a married man!”
“Yeah,” the younger detective
laughed. “Well, we might have to survive
on PB and J the rest of the week, but if we can find Shorty and he has
something useful for us, it will be worth it.”
Ben rubbed his stomach in
sympathy. “I said I’d do what I had to,
but taking away my lunch money?”
“We’ll get Jenny to bake some
extra cinnamon rolls,” Dan joked weakly, no more anxious to let go of his cash
than his colleague.
* * * * *
On the drive toward
Ben was surprised when they pulled
up at the Ala Moana Mall and parked by one of the high end department
stores. “Your informant works out of the
mall?”
“Yeah. He tells me he’s
going to work his way over to an office in Kahala some day and he might just do
it.”
“How’d you meet this character?”
Williams led the way to the inner
shopping corridor of the huge, open-air mall at the end of
At an ice cream parlor overlooking
one of the koi ponds in the center of the mall, they took seats at a table and
watched the kids throw food to the fish.
A young, thin Asian man, sporting a neatly trimmed goatee, sitting at
the next table, leaned over and offered them a menu. He pointed at something on the back page, and
whispered, “What do you want, Williams?”
“You should be able to guess,” Dan
replied under his breath. “I want to
know who is doing the bombings and where they are. I want to know by the end of the day.”
The informant glared at the
cop. “That kind of news is deadly.”
Not a negative. Dan did not react to the information he was
already getting. “I’ll make it worth the
risk.”
Shorty snorted his skepticism, but
gave a sideways glance to Kokua. “Lose
the shadow, Sherlock, and we can talk.”
Dan took the menu and pointed to
some treats, asking Ben to take his time ordering two malts. The informant hastily included his own order
of a chocolate-macadamia nut sundae.
Silently wary, Ben left. Dan
handed the menu back to Lao with a stack of bills folded in the middle. After covertly counting the cash, the snitch
scowled at the detective.
“Not good
enough, Five-0.”
“It’s all we’ve got and you don’t
get a cent more until I get something solid.”
“I don’t take credit.”
“We’re civil servants,” Dan
snapped back sourly. “And if you don’t
come through for me on this, Shorty, I promise you I will make life very tough
for you in
“You wouldn’t!” Lao snarled.
“Want to bet on that?”
“I could get killed –“
“I’ve heard you were a street kid
in
“Fine,” the young man gave a false
smile as he stared at the koi. “You get
me double of the cash delivered today.”
“Double!”
“If it’s that important, Five-0,
you will pay. You meet me at
“I won’t promise that, Shorty.”
Kokua emerged from the ice cream
store with his hands full of goodies.
Shorty gave him a quick glance, leaning over to quietly remind Williams
that the meet would be just the two of them, no newcomers. Then the Vietnamese grabbed his sundae from
the tall detective and scooted away, quickly lost in the crowd. When asked what had happened, Williams
started walking, sipping on his fudge-banana malt.
“Shorty might come through. I’m meeting him tonight and I’ll find out.”
“You want me to go with you?”
“No, thanks. He doesn’t want any
company.”
“You think it’s safe to meet him?”
“Sure,” Dan shrugged, feeling the
little guy was no threat. “He knows you
know about him and the meet. He wouldn’t
risk anything tricky. Money is his
god. It’s more important to him than his
personal safety. That’s why he makes
such a good mark.”
“Brilliant,” the Samoan
admired. They reached the LTD sedan in
the bright, afternoon sun, the breeze coming off the crystal
blue ocean was crisp, warm and fresh.
Kokua stood by his door for a moment and smiled at the younger
officer. “I’m impressed. I didn’t think Five-0 worked informants, but
you might be better than HPD.”
Williams laughed as they slipped
into the car. “What, you thought this
was going to be a cushy desk job?”
“No. Nothing about Five-0 ever seemed cushy,” he
admitted with a chuckle. “I’ve seen you
guys put in a lot of hours. Duke and
Chin kept warning me about that. Especially working with Steve, if you don’t mind me repeating
coconut wireless info.”
Finding the confession amusing,
Dan just smiled, knowing many professionals who admired and respected the tough
leader of their unit, but few who understood or liked the man known in Hawaiian
as haole hao – the man of
iron. McGarrett could be tough to live
with, but in terms of his value, and keeping
* * * * *
Returning from the jaunt in
Kelly chuckled as he shook his
head. “And did she ask how many of us
would be in the office for lunch?”
Jenny winked. “You mean which detectives would be
here? How did you know that, dad? You sound like the father of a teenage girl
who likes to come in and flirt with one of your colleagues.”
Chin Ho gave a smile to the
sergeant and nodded toward the secretary.
“Flirting isn’t only for the teenage girls,” he teased. “How is Nick today?”
“Just fine, thank you,” Jenny
grinned with satisfaction.
“Makes me glad I only have sons,”
Lukela smiled. “You think Danny would
mind if I use his office to call Tom?”
“No, I’m sure he wouldn’t, he and
Ben are still out.”
Chin told the secretary to call
his home and let Mai know he would be working late again tonight. Lunch and dinner would be okay if the girls
wanted to bother driving into the city.
Dialing the memorized number, a
voice she recognized as Alia answered barely after the first ring. Bored high school girls, she smirked. Good thing Mai and Chin gave the older kids time limits on the
phone, otherwise no one would be able to get through.
Lukela made himself at home in
Williams’ cubicle and dialed home, wondering what his graduating high school
senior son had to say that was so urgent he called the Palace. The last days of school had been disrupted by
this bombing spree and there was uncertainty if the elementary, middle schools
and high schools would reopen, or just go on an extended summer vacation
without the formal year-end exams. Much
debate had been flung out at school board meetings, city council meetings and
in the editorial column and letter section of the papers. Principles, teachers, students, parents, had
been interviewed by reporters, and numerous polls of all kinds were plastering
the airwaves and papers daily. The tourist industry was complaining that
overreactions would damage their business, and the whole city seemed in an
uproar. It only added to the stress of
the atmosphere and the pressure on McGarrett and Five-0.
As he listened to the rings, he
pondered Tom’s recent conversations with him.
The youngest of three boys, Tom was struggling to find his place among
his peers and brothers. Duke had not
been home much since the bombings, but knew last night when he went home for a
quick snackand he was assailed by a very upset young
man. School cancellation interfered with
finals and graduation and parties—all the important things in the teen’s young
life. The son of a cop, Tom knew the
realities of his father’s work, but he still was enough of a typical kid to
believe at least part of the world still revolved around him – or at least it
should.
“Hello.” Snatched
up on the third ring with a curt snap.
“Hello, son, what did you need?”
“Dad, I am NOT going to Auntie’s
on the
“Son, your mother is worried – “
“Come on, Dad, save me on this,
please!”
Doris and he had discussed sending
Tom to his niece on the
“All right, let’s discuss this
when I get home. But don’t antagonize
your mother, Tom, and this might just be a stay, not a pardon.”
“Gotcha, Dad, mahalo.”
The line went dead and he knew he
was going to pay for that when he got home – with a stern lecture from
“Trouble at home?” came a quiet voice from the doorway.
Lukela turned and sighed out a
long breath, “Yeah,
Steve. It’s the bombings.
The comment was light, meant to
infuse mild humor into the serious situation, but McGarrett did not find it
amusing. Their little ohana was not the
only part of the populous apprehensive about the recent violence.
“You need to go home?”
“No, it will be fine.”
The tone was tough, but Steve
detected an echo of disturbance in the voice.
He was territorial about his ohana.
How rough must it be for the staff with real families? His promises to catch the bomber were
sincere, fervent, but emotional responses to the crisis. In reality, he knew it might get a lot worse
before it got better.
“We’ve all been putting in a lot
of overtime on this, Duke. I want you to
go home and spend some time with your family tonight.” The officer started to object, but McGarrett
halted him. “I think that’s what you
need to do.”
* * * * *
Never comfortable in front of the
public scrutiny, McGarrett had learned press conferences and media interviews
were one of the distasteful elements of his career choice. Filing into the small conference room on the
first floor of the
Several barbs were directed at the
FBI, including speculation by one reporter that the attacks were directed
against military targets.
“Since Federal personnel were
victims naturally the Bureau would be involved,” Sullivan assured.
“How are you going to keep
“In cooperation with the FBI and
HPD, Five-0 is working to collect evidence and find the perpetrators – “
“McGarrett or Sullivan,” one man in
the front waved, “do you think this is a statement against
McGarrett tuned out the political
rhetoric of the reporter and with a nod gave the question to his
colleague. As was his habit, he scanned
the crowd, noting the media reps were eagerly hanging on every word, but
anxious to ask leading questions, even supplying answers for the
officials. The tense mood in the room
was tangible, a confrontational attitude coming from the people they faced, and
a defensive attitude from the on-the-spot officials behind the table. Except for the head of
Five-0. McGarrett was
frustrated. He would rather be out being
useful rather than trapped here under the hot lights and sizzling questions.
When it was over, he made a dash
for the door and slipped out before any of the reporters could snag him. Trotting across the parkway to the back of
the Palace, he was relived no one accosted him in an attempt at an exclusive
interview. Dashing up the stairs to the
Five-0 wing, he was already focused on Five-0’s next moves in this delicate and
deadly chess match.
* * * * *
The attack was instant. As soon as McGarrett emerged from the
protective bastions of the Palace, the wolves were upon him. News cameras and microphones in his face, literally,
startled and took him aback momentarily.
The gaggle of reporters all yelled at once and he forcefully pushed at
the annoying little man in the front, stepping on the foot that did not move
out of his way fast enough, denying to himself that it
was a deliberate defensive maneuver.
“McGarrett, come on, you’ve got to
say something about these bombings!” one man yelled.
He could barrel through them like
a rolling wall of fresh pahoehoe, but it would only
incite their aggressive instincts.
Better to give them a few crumbs rather than brush them off with a no
comment line, which, in their mood, would only escalate the hostility
level. Long ago he had learned part of
his job was to deal with the press, not just run them over.
“Is it true there’s a direct link
to
“Doesn’t it prompt you to support
the efforts to end the war?”
“What do you think the President
should do –“
At the bottom of the steps, his
passage effectively blocked by a wall on one side and the clamoring mob at his
chest, at his side and back, he paused to sweep the media vultures with an
angry glare. How had they grabbed onto
the idea about Vietnamese involvement?
It was a theory he had thought of only today. He had discussed it only with Danno and
Bergman. Was there a leak in the
coroner’s office? Were the reporters a
little smarter than he gave them credit – piecing he
puzzle together as quickly as he had?
“I deal in facts,” he sternly
reminded them. “When we have solid
evidence to the perpetrators of these heinous crimes, they will be arrested and
prosecuted to the full extent of the law.”
He glared into the nearest camera so the message was unmistakably clear
to all the viewers – including the killers.
“And if the murderous bombers are watching this, I have a message for
them. We will find you. There is no doubt. You can’t crawl far enough, or hide deep
enough that Five-0 will not track you down.”
Trying to slide through, he could not manage, still stuck tight by the
human wall.
“Aren’t you taking on more than
Five-0 can handle if this is backed by the Vietnamese government?”
“What about the politics of the
war?” someone else asked.
Temper now flaring, he elbowed
into the short man who was no match for him and seemed to be favoring his right
foot. The jab to the man’s left ear
created a painful “yowl” and he ducked, giving McGarrett a place to slide
through.
“I never get involved with
politics,” he tersely reminded.
“What about the Vietnamese –“
“Do you think the President –“
McGarrett swung on the
particularly offensive female who had the mic in his face. He pushed it away with a violent swipe and
breathed out incensed ire like fire from a dragon. “I have sworn an oath to uphold the laws and
statutes of the State of
“And if these bombings are
perpetrated by a foreign government, what will you say if the President –“
“You guys have the most ridiculous
questions,” he muttered under his breath and almost hoped it would be picked up
on the evening news. “Look, I don’t fly
to
“Freedom of the
press!
The public has a right to know –“
“It’s more important that we catch
these criminals and stop the killing than it is to talk into your cameras.”
The woman dashed in front of
him. “Then tell us this,” Ms Vernor, the chief woman’s lib
shark at the Advertiser demanded in his face. “You just appointed a new
detective to Five-0. While I’m sure
Officer Kokua is highly qualified, why didn’t you allow a female officer into
your exclusive boy’s club?”
Putting on his sweetest smile,
allowing the dripping sarcasm to flow in his tone, he responded right down into
her face, “We already covered that at the press conference, Ms
Vernor. Maybe
you should check your notes if you can’t remember. They say the memory is the first to go.” He pushed past the stunned woman, her
nonplussed, off-balance shock providing no obstruction at all for his
determined surge. “Don’t call us, we’ll
call you.”
* * * * *
“So, you’re not making much of an
effort to make friends among the press,” the younger man smirked as he chuckled
at his boss.
McGarrett sputtered and shook his
head. “No. Not taking my own advice about the no comment
stance.”
“Sometimes you just have to let
off steam,” Williams nodded in understanding. “When this is all over, it would
be nice to get some good press for a change.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“I won’t.” He snickered.
“Especially after your zinger to the Vernor dragon!”
The comment drew a chuckle from
the otherwise grim chief. “I hope it
makes her think twice about stupid questions, but again, don’t hold your
breath. Particularly
since she may have to buy a new pair of shoes. My exit was a little heavy, if you know what
I mean.”
This garnered a laugh from the
younger officer, and it cheered McGarrett to hear the response, feel the
momentary relaxation in the discussion.
It reminded him that amid the stress, no matter what was happening around
him, he had a core ohana – a brother – to turn to no matter what – to center
him back to the ability to step away from the stress and irritations and
tragedy and set himself back to a track where he could think and effectively
act.
On the rest of the drive to the
coroner’s, Williams returned their focus to business and reported the lab
findings. They put together a profile of
the attackers: deadly, Asian and/or Vietnamese -- this last one blew himself up
– accident probably and not suicide bombers like the protesters in
McGarrett grimly shook his
head. “This won’t be easy, Danno. They aren’t too careful about hiding the
clues. Our people are piling up the
evidence. How can we fight ghosts? We don’t know what they look like, what they
want, except to strike terror in the city.
We have to catch them at it to end this!”
“And that means more bombings,”
Williams groaned. “People waking up
tomorrow morning are going to be scared.
What did the Governor say?”
“He’s going to keep open lines to
the press and has asked for tip hot lines into his office. That’s supposed to be starting tonight.”
Williams’ sigh came deep in his
throat and the boss’ grimace was sour. “Yeah. Tip hot
lines. We’ll get as many cranks as we
will anything useful.”
“More cranks,” the older man
vowed. “And that’s his idea to deal with
the panic?”
“What else is he going to do,
Danno?”
The officer shrugged. “At least he didn’t ask you to man the
phones.”
This raised an eyebrow form McGarrett. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just a comment on how you charm
the press and public, Steve.”
“Right.”
* * * * *
Releasing a whoop of joy, Kelly
yanked the teletype message from the machine and jogged toward the boss’
office, waving the paper in the air like a victory flag. Without knocking, he barged into the private
domain. McGarrett, in shirtsleeves,
froze behind his desk, a file folder in both hands. With jacket removed, sleeves rolled up, tie
loosened, Williams, sitting on the edge of the desk, looked up from the
notebook he had been reading from.
“Immigration
records!” Kelly shouted out. “The
fingerprint belongs to a Chinese dude named Huong Troc -- supposed to live in
McGarrett’s energy and expression
heightened, he dropped the papers in hand to move back to the coat rack to
retrieve his jacket, preparatory to exiting.
The first solid lead in this aggravating case had a name, a place, a
direction. He was in motion, his
instincts knowing they had something solid and could finally move forward with
momentum instead of drifting along in the wake of the blast of violence.
Williams grabbed his suit coat
from the back of the nearest chair when Kelly stopped both lead detectives.
“Lots of people at this place been
arrested for protests. FBI has their
eyes on the whole bunch. Here’s the
biggest news,” the Oriental smiled.
“This Troc dude, he’s on the Interpol list as
Red Chinese Communist agent!”
The phone started ringing, but
McGarrett was already trotting out of the office. “That’s probably Sullivan from the FBI right
now, trying to catch up,” he almost chuckled in derision as the team raced out
of the office.
By the time the two Five-0 sedans
rolled up to the two story house in Manoa, three HPD
blue and whites were careening around the nearest corner. Not waiting for back up, McGarrett raced
ahead, confident his men and more were at his back.
Offering a preemptive knock and announcement, McGarrett didn’t wait to
be invited in, but tried the doorknob, which was unlocked. Barging in, seeing from the corner of his eye
that Kelly, Kokua and HPD officers had raced around to the back, he slammed
inside, low, scanning with eyes and gun barrel as he assessed his surroundings
in an instant. Williams, just behind and
to the right, made the same practiced move.
Evidence that snacks, a plate of
eggs and rice, cups of tea were hastily abandoned, even spilled, were taken in
at a glance as the two Five-0 detectives and three HPD patrolmen swept through
the empty front room. Warily, but
quickly, moving through the bottom floor, they stopped when they came to the
kitchen. Through the narrow doorway they
spotted Kokua wrestling a subdued suspect into the house. A thin, short, Asian youth, he was no match
for the former-football player, who indelicately smashed him face first into
the square wooden table set in the middle of the kitchen.
Chin shook his head as he came in
after the suspect. He was shouting at the
man in strident, clipped, Chinese. After a moment, he looked at the boss. “This is a small fry, Steve. Troc not here, but this guy might know something.”
“We caught him trying to go over
the fence in the back yard,” Kokua shook his head in perplexity. “He put up a fight!”
“Not so smart,” Kelly grimaced,
telling the detainee something else in Chinese.
“We’ve got Mallory and Nick
heading a search of the rest of the neighborhood, but no sign of Troc.”
“Read him his rights,” McGarrett
snapped in disgust, resisting the urge to grab the sleaze by the collar and
shake a confession out of him. “Book him
under a John Doe and keep him isolated at the Palace,:”
he warned. “We don’t want any slip ups
on security with our only lead.” Kokua manhandled him out the door, Kelly
behind. McGarrett’s last command stopped
them momentarily. “And read him his
rights.
In English and Chinese and Vietnamese. When we take this case to trial we want it
all by the book.”
“You got it, Luna nui,” the new detective nodded.
McGarrett did a double take.
Without explaining to Ben,
Williams provided the translation. “Big boss.”
Ignoring the Hawaiian lesson,
McGarrett vented his frustration by kicking the leg of the table. Giving instructions for the other officers to
do a careful sweep of the rest of the house, he paced, breathing hard,
dissipating the tension, the adrenalin, the unfulfilled energy of failure.
“We had him, Danno!” came the sudden shout that rang through the nearly empty
room. “We had him and he was tipped, or
he spotted us.”
His colleague almost shaking with
rage, Williams stood back and allowed him to vent. Close, but not fast enough. It was frustrating and tough on McGarrett,
who so desperately wanted to catch these fanatics. Accustomed to the emotional tirades, he
allowed his friend to blow off steam, then
simmer. In a few moments the brilliant
detective would see it was unproductive to give in to anger, and he would
re-focus on the priorities of the case.
A frequent witness to such
moments, Dan knew if the tension became too great he would have to step in and
offer more than just silent support. He
would have to talk his friend back from the tight frustration that often
surrounded a harsh case like this one.
They all dealt with the merciless
violence to innocent victims, to the media attacks, to the pressure, in
different ways. Most of the rest of the
staff had families to go home to and share the maddening elements of the job. McGarrett had no one to talk to, to think
with, to vent to, except him. It had never been part of the job description
when he came into Five-0, but it had developed through their mutual working
hours, and as a side effect of their gradually established friendship.
That was not counting all the
times HE had vented to Steve over any number of crisis moments in his
life. It had been a two way street so
far, and he knew the days ahead could be the worst they had ever weathered if
they did not catch this bomber soon.
Judging that the silence was not
going to be enough this time, he quietly offered, “We have a lot more than we
did an hour ago.” Glancing into the
living room, he noted officers carefully prowling the room – without touching
anything -- searching for clues. “It
won’t be long now, Steve.”
“Yeah,” came
barely a breathed whisper. “I know I
promised we would get these fanatics,” McGarrett seethed. “We need it to be soon.”
Williams was not surprised they
were thinking the same thing, committing to the identical course, even down to practically
the same phrasing. Over the years they
had come to read each other well, but more than that, to anticipate what the
other would do, say, or even think – that was how in tune they worked. While every law enforcement officer around
them wanted the bad guys as badly as they did, he knew no one was going to work
harder than the head of Five-0 to achieve that goal.
Sergeant Nick Kamekona
leaned in the doorway. “Steve, Danny,
you better come upstairs. There’s some things
you need to see.”
Anticipation of a dire revelation
filled him, and with a quick glance at his superior, as McGarrett raced from
the room, he knew they were on the same track again. Jogging up the stairs, Nick led them to a
bedroom in the back of the house. On a
long wooden table, neatly laid out, were a dismantled clock, variously colored
insulated wires, small tools – all the components for another bomb.
McGarrett issued orders for the
other officers to do a careful search of the rest of the house. Williams concentrated on the assembled items,
dread growing quickly in the pit of his stomach.
“Steve?” his heart increasing its
rapid rate as he visually scanned the table.
McGarrett was leaning down beside
him, studying the array on the table. “Yeah. These are just
scraps aren’t they?”
“I think so,” he nearly
whispered. “And you’ve noticed what’s
missing.”
“Right. The explosive.”
“Yeah. That means they’ve
got the makings, including the big boom factor, with them.”
“Already assembled maybe?”
“No, the clock is still here,” he
shook his head. “But by tomorrow they
could have another clock and launch another attack.”
“Then we’ve got to stop them
tonight.”
Duke had joined them, handing a
half sheet of paper to McGarrett. “Found
this on the floor downstairs, like it had fallen under the chair when everyone
took off in a hurry.”
Standing at his boss’ elbow,
Williams read the hand scrawled ad for a protest rally at the Capitol. “This afternoon at five,” he read aloud. “Just in time to snarl up downtown traffic at
quitting time,” he sourly assessed.
“Maybe we’ll see some familiar
faces.” McGarrett snapped his fingers as
his anticipation and adrenalin quickened.
“Get the pictures of the Vietnamese we’re looking for out to as many
patrolmen as possible. To anyone who will
be at the Capitol this afternoon! I want
them nabbed before they have a chance to take out the state government!”
* * * * *
The Five-0 team and plainclothes
HPD associates hit the campus of the
The best way to find the bombers
was for the South Vietnamese to cooperate.
For this, Five-0 landed at the unusual venue of the local
University. When they arrived at the
student activities center, unexpected and unwanted tagalongs appeared; Suzy,
Tim, and David Kelly. Assembled at the
student quad, with his men, McGarrett flatly declared any involvement from civilians
was forbidden.
“You are to stay clear of this
operation,” he ordered the siblings, sternly stabbing them each with
unquestioned resolve.
“We could help –“
“By staying out
of the way.” Not giving another thought to the trio, he
turned to instruct his men.
In the background he heard the
family patriarch admonishing his daughter and sons to obey the boss’
mandate.
“Suzy,” her father snapped, ill
pleased at her comments. “Steve knows
how to run an investigation; he doesn’t need your interference.”
Satisfied the matter was in hand
he ordered, “Let’s spread out.”
“This won’t be easy,” Williams
warned the top detective as they briskly paced toward the center of the
university.
“Maybe we should have put in an
undercover operative,” Steve almost smiled.
“Think you could pass as a student?”
He didn’t give his friend any time to respond. “I bet Suzy would have volunteered to show
you around.”
“Shhh,”
he countered under his breath. “You
don’t want Chin to hear you.”
“You mean YOU don’t want Chin to
overhear you being embarrassed about his daughter’s crush on you.”
Suzy chose that moment to look
pleadingly at the younger detective. She
scooted over to his side. “Did I hear
you talking about an undercover operation?
I could –“
“Not a chance,” McGarrett nixed.
She smiled at Williams. “Danny?”
“No thanks,” Dan winked at the
Kelly girl. “Being a cop is hard enough
without sitting in classes again.”
“We’ll see you later, Suzy,”
McGarrett dismissed, then led the policemen toward the
center’s entrance.
The student hall was set up in
casual groupings of chairs and tables. Everything in the large open areas
reflected strong Oriental designs. Bold
art and sculptures adorned the shelves and alcoves. Kokua and HPD uniformed officers remained
outside to minimize the attention of the cops on campus. McGarrett, Williams and Kelly drifted through
the big, casual rooms. Circulating, the
boss was annoyed to see the Kelly children had joined in on the investigation
at some point.
Suzy wandered to a group of five
students sitting on the floor in the corner, while Tim and David separated to
drift to a young man playing a guitar.
With a practiced eye, McGarrett watched the Kelly youths work the room,
but he was more interested in the reaction the law enforcement presence would
generate in the student body.
A few heads turned, some people
watched them with varying degrees of interest; irritation, curiosity,
resentment. A young man and a young
woman, near the corner where Suzy was visiting with others, studiously ignored the
police. Their lack of reaction was like
trying to ignore an elephant sitting on one of the sofas. It was just too practiced and complete.
Turning toward the doors, he
leaned closer to his colleague and told Williams of his observation. He was not surprised the veteran officer
already had noted the obvious attempt to ignore them.
“Danno, I’m going out to alert
Duke and the others. In about three
minutes I want you to amble over and ask Suzy to get away from that
couple. I’m guessing that our two
suspects will get uncomfortable with you so close and they will make a move to
leave. As soon as they do, get on the talkie and let us know and we’ll trail
them.”
“Sure. You’re hoping they’ll rabbit to their
cohorts.”
“I’m hoping. In case they try something, just make sure
Chin’s kids are clear.”
“Right.”
McGarrett strolled back the way
they had come. Williams took his time to
stroll around the room, heading slowly towards Suzy. When he reached her side, he took her by the
arm and in a quiet tone told her to leave the area. When she started to protest, his voice became
low and urgent. “This is not a game,
Suzy, just do what I asked. Now. And get your
brothers clear, too. Now.”
Looking into his eyes, hers reflected
the terse orders were registered, understood, and about to be obeyed. Without question, she casually walked toward
her siblings. Williams had to admire her
calm. When Suzy was out of the way he
ambled over toward the isolated Asian boy and girl. Within a few feet of them, he knew McGarrett
had targeted them correctly. Nervous,
they seemed agitated and looked anywhere but at him, except with fleeting,
scared glances, as if gauging his distance.
At arms length, he zeroed in on
the girl, who had her back mostly toward him.
Surprised they had not jumped up and fled already, he ruminated on what
his questioning would be – tough or casual – as he stopped next to them.
The suspect girl was up in a
flash, spinning toward him before he could react. The flicker of something bright in her hand,
he instinctively swerved aside to avoid a direct stab with a lethal blade that
she swiped toward his midsection. The
boy dashed away to his left. Williams
belatedly grabbed for the girl’s arm as she pivoted to turn and run. The action brought her back, swinging around
to stab at him again. He had her in an
arm lock, Chin instantly at his side, before she dropped the weapon in a wrench
of pain.
A wail from Suzy sounded beside
him. What was she doing back? He noted she was staring at him in
shock. Where had Suzy come from? Why was she looking at him and crying? Glancing down, he realized the girl had
stabbed herself and the blood was spreading on his tan jacket – no – the blood
was spreading farther and farther, seeping up from his white shirt. HE had been cut! Only then did he feel the sting of serrated
flesh as the burning pain sizzled along his side.
He hoped the intrusive stab wasn’t
deep, but it hurt plenty; the warm, dripping blood trickling through his
fingers the sharp ache, and made it bad enough.
His cop mind ricocheted irrelevantly in a micro-second to the recent
reign of stabbings, wondering if he had just become one of those statistics. What stunned him most was the alarm generated
by Suzy, who was frozen, standing just outside the chaos, pale with dread as
her father cuffed the criminal – no older than Suzy herself.
Tim and David kept calm heads by
trying to appease the crowd. One of them
asked a fellow student to call for an ambulance. Tim took possession of Chin’s talkie to alert
the troops of the emergency. David
grabbed onto Dan’s arm and gently guided him over to the nearest seat. By that time, Suzy’s numb reaction had
dissipated and she pressed her hand against his own to stay the bleeding.
“I’m fine,” he told them, but his
voice seemed distant and distracted. It
wasn’t a serious injury – he could tell already it was more of a slash than a
stab, but the sting was disconcerting.
“It’s just a scratch.”
The elder Kelly child was calm and
cool in the crisis. “I know,” David
reassuringly told him and forced him to take a seat on a sofa. The young man even managed a little humor. “Just a flesh wound, right, Danny?”
The students surrounding him were
upset, disturbed, and while he was not very happy himself, he knew David’s
approach – humor – was probably the best way to play this. Low-key and subdued.
“Looks worse than it is,” he
reassured, dredging up a smile for both the kids. “Let me outta here and I’ll go have Doc patch
me up.”
Quietly, his aide confided, “It’s
not bleeding too bad, but the more movement the more you bleed. You don’t want to get dizzy and faint or
anything right?” he asked, his voice a few octaves higher than normal, his hands
shaking and cool against Dan’s.
This was a lot of pressure for a
young man who was unaccustomed to seeing violence and medical emergencies right
in front of him. The shocking, yet
magnetic sight of the wounded officer seemed to attract and repel the crowd of
college people. Even though he didn’t
feel much like doing his duty, or taking care of others right now – his head
was starting to spin and he was, indeed, feeling faint – he wasn’t about to
admit that or let it show.
“I’ll be fine, David. Just get the crowd dispersed and get your
brother and sister out of here, please.”
Williams strove for a placid mask in expression and tone. “Go on.”
“And let you pass out on the
floor? That wouldn’t do your image any
good at all.”
“No,” he agreed, knowing the young
man was doing his best to keep everyone from panicking, including his family.
“Good bedside manner, David,” he complimented.
“Pays to be an
Eagle Scout.” He leaned close and whispered, “Besides,
don’t want to upset my sister. Just sit
here and don’t be a hero. Let the
ambulance come and get you.”
He wanted to remind the kid that
he’d been wounded before and wasn’t wont to lose his cool even under duress,
but he just kept quiet. David was right
to be the center of efficiency and make sure there was no unnecessary distress
over the unfortunate incident. This stab
wound was pretty mild he was sure, but even if it wasn’t he wouldn’t make a big
deal about it in front of his ohana and a crowd of college students. Glancing at Suzy, who was sitting beside her
brother, he gave her a reassuring smile.
“How bad, Danny?” Chin wondered,
crouching down nearby.
Williams nodded, noting two
patrolmen were taking the girl away who had stabbed him. What happened to the second suspect, he
wondered. They had probably lost him. Duke and Ben were outside on the grounds of
the campus. Had they stopped the
kid? Were they back to square one on
this caper?
“Not bad.” Light headed, he knew his thinking was just a
little skewed, and grinned at Suzy, who crowded next to her dad. “It’s okay, really,” he winked, noting her
eyes were pooled with distress. “I could
walk to the car –“
“Oh, no,” Chin
sharply denied.
David ordered, “You’re staying
right here.”
A commotion at the edge of the
crowd caught his eye and he noted McGarrett barreling through the masses, his
face tight with anxiety. “Danno! Danno, what happened! Are you all right?” he was shouting before he
reached his side and knelt on the floor next to the couch.
Embarrassed at the fuss, he
sighed. “Looks worse than it is,” he assured, appeasing his friend who was
clearly upset.
Steve held his hand on Dan’s
shoulder. “There’s an ambulance on the
way.”
Grimacing, only in part from the
pain, Williams told his friend he would rather just walk out.
His tone was firm and denied the
idea, his voice hoarse and terse when he commanded. “You are not going
anywhere, Danno. Just stay put.”
Dan strove for lightness. “It won’t make the dean very happy. Our little excursion is bringing about all
kinds of bad publicity. Let me just walk
back to the car. I’m fine. It’s nothing serious.”
It had been a tense stand off in
the dean’s office not long ago when McGarrett told him of the link to the
bombers and the need to set a trap on campus.
The U of H was worried about adverse publicity and the highly liberal
population of students that would protest the police presence. An “incident” would cause negative exposure
for all.
Irritated he had become the
“incident”, Williams hoped to minimize the damage. “Steve,” he appealed.
McGarrett’s lips were in a firm
line of controlled distress, his face pale, his eyes focused on the younger
detective’s midsection, where blood was still trickling from between the
fingers and hands of both Williams and David Kelly. McGarrett lent his own handkerchief to stay
the flow of red and shook his head.
“You’re not moving,” he ordered tightly.
Over his friend’s shoulder,
Williams noted the room had been cleared of students. He wondered about the suspect and McGarrett
grimly stated the male Asian had been captured and was being booked as they
spoke.
“Hang loose, Danno. Just a few minutes and this will all be
over.”
The younger detective relaxed and
closed his eyes, leaning his head back against McGarrett’s hand. Aware the Kelly kids were still hovering in
anxious concern, Steve’s primary worry was for Williams. This had not been the plan! This was a simple tracking and arrest
excursion. The attack was a sober
reminder of how fragile the life and safety of a cop; how desperate their adversaries.
The ambulance attendants arrived
with a stretcher and McGarrett gently shook Williams’ arm, quietly letting him
know it was time to move. Helping get
the patient settled, he walked along with the attendants, encouraged that his
observations and their initial report seemed positive. Quickly thanking the Kellys
and urging them to go home, he climbed in the back of the ambulance and
silently, soberly, watched the attendant work on his friend on the trip to the
hospital.
* * * * *
Bergman shook his head and offered
no other comment as he studied the wound.
Speaking to the nurse assisting him, he gave orders for the usual tools
needed to examine, cleanse and stitch a gash.
McGarrett looked on in grim silence.
“You’re very lucky, Danny. This is your left side,” he lectured
unnecessarily. "Away from vital areas. You lost
some blood, obviously, but it looks like you avoided damage of any organs. A little higher and that would have hit too
close to your heart!” He huffed again
with impatience. “We’ll check you out
just to be sure.”
McGarrett’s release of tension was
tangible. “He’ll be all right?”
“I’m not even going to attempt to
suggest he stay overnight.”
“Doc –“
“Yes, Steve, he’ll be all right if
he behaves himself!”
“
Ignoring his wife’s comment, he
glared at the patient, then the lead detective, with hard eyes. “Bed rest overnight and NO work!” he nearly
shouted.
“Doc, we’ve got a bomber to –
OWWW!” Williams hissed as Bergman jabbed him with a needle.
“Local for the stitches,” he
explained without mercy.
“Thanks for the bedside manner,
Doc,” the patient groused. “David Kelly
is better than you.”
“Which is why my
best patients are already dead, detective.” Emphasizing his stance, he stabbed the
hypodermic in the air toward both detectives.
“I mean it. I know the world has
to be saved. That Danny Williams and
Steve McGarrett are required to be on the front lines. But if you don’t listen to me, young man, and
Steve, you’re going to risk tearing the suture, cause more bleeding, and
acquiring an infection.”
“You know the bomber –“
“Danny, there’s an entire police
force out there!” Bergman shouted. “I
know how badly you need to stop these fanatics!
I’m the one who gets the victims, remember?” he argued,
his tone as harsh as his expression.
“You’re the only living patients I have and I want you to stay that way
despite your frequent actions to the contrary!”
“He’ll rest.” The quiet, resolute words were nearly a balm
in the dying echo of the chastisement.
Bergman cleared his throat,
uncomfortable with his own outburst, apparently recognizing and accepting the
grim demeanor of the man in charge.
Offering a supportive squeeze of Steve’s arm, Dora gave a nod of mute
approval. To the distressed patient, she
winked and offered a gentle smile.
Giving a final huff of
resignation, Bergman completed his task.
Instead of issuing any more ultimatums, he stood in the doorway, ready
to leave, and considered both men. “This
is a tough one, boys.
Everyone expects you to stop the terror, but no one is a harsher critic
than yourselves. Don’t let it consume
you, please. I’ve seen enough victims
this last week. I don’t want either of you, or any of your guys, to be back here, or at my usual
office.”
“Take care, you two. Danny, just rest, I’ll bring something by
tomorrow.” Mrs. Bergman winked, quietly encouraging them and defusing the
tension, then she preceded her husband into the hall.
Without making eye contact, he
gave a nod and muttering of aloha and closed the door.
Knowing the doc was speaking in
more than just physical terms, McGarrett absorbed the wise counsel. The danger at the university had come out of
nowhere. Tracking down college students
– he had been more worried about the aspect in political ramifications rather
than jeopardy to his men. Keep it a low
key; subtle investigation. Just a
handful of uniformed men had joined the mission. Colleges across the country were suffering
from such confrontation. The anti-war feelings here in
The bombings had only exacerbated
the high emotions. The last thing the
Governor, trustees, faculty and dean -- or he -- wanted was a comparison of
storm troopers -- armed cops on campus.
Grimly studying Danno, he corrected that last thought. The last thing he wanted, or expected, was
his friend ending up in the hospital.
Grateful it was not a serious wound, mindful it could have been so much
worse, his own emotions were running plenty hot.
Staring at his friend struggling
to don a borrowed hospital green shirt, McGarrett was stunned at how wrong he
had been. Not only were the student
radicals dangerous, they were willing to attack an officer in a very public place,
surrounded by many other officers, then flee rather than be captured. Right now Chin and Ben were grilling the
Vietnamese at HPD, and Duke and a team of HPD men were tossing the dorms where
the kids stayed, tracking down friends and associates, hoping to catch more of
the group.
Moving close to the table, he
helped Dan get the shirt over his shoulder.
The younger officer would never say so, but the wound was smarting and
was going to inhibit his actions for a little while. More sobering was the attack, the unexpected
emergency, the crisis that could have been far worse, striking where they least
expected violence. It was a metaphor, he
thought, of the bigger picture; a type, signaling the layered dangers intrinsic
to their investigation.
“Steve –“
“Don’t try to get around Doc’s
orders, Danno. I’m driving you
home. You’re resting for the rest of the
night and probably tomorrow.”
Williams gingerly eased off the
table and McGarrett steadied him.
“Steve, you need me to
–“
“You’re right. I need you.
I need you in good shape because even if we catch a lucky break on this
bombing you are going to need to be in top shape to see it through.” The demand was harsh and McGarrett knew it,
but would not qualify the sharp orders.
“If we don’t get lucky, and this drags out, we are going to have more
tragedy. Then I’ll need my best man on
the job and fit to work long hours.”
Knowing when not to argue was one
of Danno’s best traits, and he chose this moment to capitulate and give in with
a nod. “So what’s new?” he rhetorically
countered with a slight lilt of his lips.
“Yeah.” Moving to the door,
he held it open, signaling an end of discussion.
Accepting the conditions, Williams
gave a curt, dissatisfied nod, and exited.
* * * * *
Cruising into the parking lot at
the restaurant by the wharf, Williams parked in a slot near the makai side and
shut off the growling engine of the Mustang.
He could have brought the LTD, and would be feeling a lot better right
now, since driving -- working the stick shift on the sports car -- did nothing
good for his injury. In fact, he was
feeling a lot of strain and ache on his left side. The delicious beauty of the drive, along the
water, with the top down, the luscious warm sun on his face, the wind in his
hair – it all compensated for the hurting.
Part of the reasons for his
disobedience was that he truly thought he could help. Some of it, though, was resentment that he
was on the beach while his friends were doing the important work, facing
danger, without him. He did not easily
or gladly counter Steve’s orders, or Doc’s, but this time he could do more good
out working at least one source of information.
THEN he would go home
As an excuse, he told himself
sometimes it was more important to medicate the emotional stress than the
physical, and this was one of those instances.
If Steve found out he was driving his car—well – if Steve or Doc
discovered he had run out on this little jaunt – either one or both would
murder him. Well, he could only break
the rules on this once – or get killed once -- and he might as well make it a
felony rather than a misdemeanor and drive the Mustang.
Shorty crossed in his rearview
mirror and in a flash slinked into the passenger seat to slink down low. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing a car
without a top!” he
snapped. “Anybody could see us!”
“Listen –“
“Never mind. Just go. I wouldn’t have come but this is serious,
Williams,” he nearly whispered in an urgent tone. “There’s an anti-war rally today.”
“Yeah. Now.”
“Yeah, at the
Capitol.” He looked at the detective with a measure of
some emotion Dan couldn’t define. “Let
your friends know it’s gonna be bad.”
“At the – a
bomb!” Dan shot out.
“You’re looking for a guy named
Troc. He has a thin mustache and a scar
over his right eye. He’ll be dressed as
a worker.”
Lao slipped out of the car and
left so quick, it took Williams a moment to process it all. Bomb. He revved the car to life and sped from the
parking lot. If only he had a radio –
there was no time to stop – only a few blocks to the Capitol.
Inappropriately called rush hour,
the streets were clogged, many people just getting off work. Added to that was the
terrible crush of added bodies congregating around the Capitol and Palace
square. Breaking a number of
traffic laws and all the speed limits, he raced around to come up on the Palace
from
“This is Williams, go to red
alert. The bomber is here! He’s going to plant a bomb here at the
rally! We’re looking for a slight guy
with a thin mustache and dressed as a maintenance worker or some other service
kind of employee. Remember, he’s
armed! Approach with
all caution!”
“Danno, what are you doing –“
“Steve, I’m at the makai side of
the Capitol by the Palace. Nick is with
me. I just got word on this Troc guy and I believe it.”
“We’re checking the crowd,” came the hurried reply. “I’m in
the front.”
Where would they want a bomb? Maximum impact. Not the crowd. Not protesters. Statement. Political statement. Not sympathizers – political –
“Steve, I’m heading for the
Governor’s office!”
“He’s not there! I
sent him home over an hour ago!” The voice
was ragged, as if McGarrett was already in motion.
Williams scurried, jogged, holding
his aching side as he hurried. “Do the
protesters know that?”
“No, they’re calling for the governor to make an
appearance.”
Nick was running along side him
and he handed back the talkie. “Get a
bomb squad up to the Governor’s suite and get the top floor cleared. Move the protesters away from that corner of
the building.”
The elevator ran clear to the
fifth floor and Williams drew the small .22 from his ankle holster on the short
trip up. When the doors opened he was
already out of breath, with head spinning from the pain of his injury, but he
could not afford to give up. No telling
how long it would take Steve and back up to get here.
When the doors opened he was ready
for opposition, but the open hallway was clear.
Only a glance to the left assured him the lanai on the makai side of the
volcano-shaped building – the side where the governor’s office held a
spectacular view of
A noise alerted him and he swung
into the governor’s private office, coming up short when he spotted the skinny
Asian man with a facial scar and mustache tinkering with something on the floor
behind he huge, half-circle, koa wood desk.
The man ducked just as he fired.
“Another shot and you blow us both
into pieces,” the thickly accented voice called out. “Stay away or I explode Capitol and your
governor!”
The ocean breeze brushed through
the room and with it the faint noise of the protesters on the street five
floors below. “The governor’s not here,”
Williams shouted back, the sweat making his grip on the small pistol
slippery. There were innocent lives down
in the street, and probably office workers scattered on this side of the
building. Countless people would be
killed or hurt if he did not stop this.
“Surrender now!”
“I would rather die! A martyr to Ho Chi Min!”
Hoping to get an
angle on the guy before the threat was fulfilled, the Five-0 officer edged
slowly around the desk. One shot was all he needed. One clear strike at the head or the shoulder
– anything to throw this guy off.
“You’re a fanatic –“
“A patriot! You have brought
war machines bombing deaths to my country so I bring to yours!”
Williams edged toward the side as
the man raised the bomb in his left hand, holding it high, right
hand bringing a wire close to the casing.
The madman sheltered behind the desk, the cop would not get a clear
shot, but would be able to watch as the bomb was connected. Could he drill a shot to the man’s
hands? As he rushed forward, intending
to dive across the desk and tackle the bomber, a shot rang out from the open
lanai doors. A scream sounded from
behind the desk, and Dan stopped cold, staring at McGarrett as he raced into
the room from the open lanai doorway behind the desk, his revolver aimed at the
crying criminal.
“Danno, you okay?” the chief
asked, gulping deep breaths.
Nick, Duke and Ben came in from
behind the boss, grabbing the terrorist, dragging the shrieking prisoner, who
was unceremoniously cuffed. Dazed, Dan leaned
against the desk. After checking the
prisoner and ordering Duke to give him his rights, Steve stepped over to his
second-in-command.
“You all right?” he inquired as he
critically eyed his friend, staring at where Dan was holding his side.
Aware his hand was moist, Dan
grimaced and checkedto see his hand was indeed red
with blood. He must have popped a few
stitches in his wild race to get here.
All he could do was nod, too tired to even speak.
“They will come!” Troc
shrieked. “My people follow! Like the sands of sea!” he wept, then screamed as he was manhandled to his feet. “You!” he spit at McGarrett. “Death will find you! All of you!” his strangled cry echoed before
he passed out from the pain. None too gently, he was pulled away by the HPD
men.
Duke lingered, eyeing Danny. “You need an ambulance?”
“I’m okay,” he brushed away.
McGarrett took his arm in an
unrelentingly firm hold. “He’s on his
way to the doc’s right now.” His look to
his friend was grim, and for Dan’s ears only, he intently demanded. “I’ve had
enough of fanatics for a while.”
Contrite that his plan to covertly
work on the case had utterly failed, he knew he had been saved a tongue lashing
only because he had managed to miraculously stop the bombing and capture Troc. Or maybe it
was because he was managing to keep his blood off the governor’s carpet. He was already in enough trouble.
“Me, too,” he resigned as he
slowly started out of the room. “I know
you’re not happy about me disobeying your orders, Steve, but I need to ask you
a favor.” Drained, worn out, he leaned
on his stronger friend as they paused in the doorway.
“What?” came the guarded question,
the senior detective obviously not sure he wanted to do anything to cater to
the errant officer.
“I drilled a hole in the
governor’s wall. You think you can
square it for me?”
A sputter turned into a dry
chuckle and the taller man steered him out the door. “I’ll see what I can do, Danno.”
* * * * *
The drive to the nearby hospital
was complicated by the ongoing protests and still clogged traffic jams. Williams said little, feeling bone-weary,
sore and worried. Troc’s
threats still rang in his ears, and he feared what might happen next. The captured leader could be isolated, but he
could still deliver messages to his followers through various agents. Perhaps there was a pre-standing plan in the
event of Troc’s capture or death. What worried him most was the utter vile
spewing from Troc directly at McGarrett.
“Steve, that was a great shot, by
the way,” he complimented, opening one eye and turned to observe the
driver. “It looked like you took out his
elbow. Won’t be making
any bombs after your shot.”
Smirking, McGarrett inclined his
head slightly, still concentrating on the traffic. “Mahalo, Danno. Coming from you that means a lot.”
“You’re a better pistol shot than
I am,” he returned, closing his eye again.
“He was threatening you, Steve.”
“Hot-aired
fanatic.”
“Some extra security wouldn’t
hurt.”
“I can take care of myself, Danno,
which is more than I can say about you.”
Williams sighed, not wanting to
get into any debates with his boss about the infractions of the day. He knew he would get enough lectures already.
Releasing a heavy sigh, McGarrett
wryly commented, “You know, I’m not sure I want to know what happened to bring
you to the Capitol. You’ll probably get
a medal for saving the day and snagging Troc,” he snorted.
Dan grimaced as he fingered the
soggy material of his Aloha shirt under his hand. “I’d rather have a few new additions to my
closet. This case is really costing me
in wardrobe.”
“In more ways than one,” came the quiet aside.
“Hardly the kind of finale I expect when I send you home for recovery.”
“I can explain it.”
“I’m sure you can. After Doc clears you to
come back to work.”
“For once, I agree.”
* * * * *
Bergman’s reprimands and
complaints were diminished by the congratulatory mood that Troc had been
captured. Many of the Vietnamese
protesters had also been rounded up from the gathering, McGarrett learned as he
waited at the hospital with Williams. It
might be hard proving conspiracy with some of them, but he was sure within the
next few days – before he had to release some of them – they could get charges
to stick.
“I don’t know if I can trust you
to obey anything I say,” Bergman complained as he finished his stitching job,
“but see if you can stay out of trouble for a few days. I need the rest.”
“No argument from me, Doc.”
“And any more injuries, Danny, and
I’ll bill you for hospital greens,” he griped as he handed the patient a
surgical shirt.
Bergman helped get the garment
over his left shoulder. “Dora will
probably take pity on you and drop by tomorrow with some of her home cooking.”
“Tell her late, Doc,” Williams
advised as he eased off the table. “I’m
sleeping in.”
“I’m taking him straight home,”
McGarrett promised as they walked into the hall, the pace slow in accordance
with the injured detective.
The wound was relatively minor,
but the bleeding and expended energy, atop the generally weary, overstressed
condition from the heavy case, left Williams limp with fatigue. He looked forward to a couple days off. The feeling of completion and success was
there, as he often felt after a harrowing case, but there was also the
subliminal dread from the crazed threats of the fanatic Troc.
“Steve, you know Troc must have a
whole gang of minions here. I think
maybe you should set up some guards at your place and the Palace.”
As he stabbed the elevator button,
McGarrett scoffed. “Danno, all fanatics
rant after their master plots are foiled.”
The trail of misery was still
tangibly fresh to him. These animals
preyed on the innocent, fuelling their fanaticism and violence with pain, blood
and death. That the flame of tragedy
could extend to his own ohana – to his friend – was unthinkable.
“Steve, really –“
“Danno, I’ll be fine. And you’re not to worry about it.” The doors opened and McGarrett took him by the
elbow and urged him inside the lift.
“The only thing I want you thinking about for the next few days is the
girls on the beach.”
Unsatisfied with the expected
response, Williams pondered how he could manage to get a better level of
protection for his stubborn boss. On the
way to the car they discussed meal options – something quick – McGarrett wanted
to get back to the hospital to oversee security for Troc, then HPD to check on
the booking of the other prisoners.
At the black Mercury, Williams
stopped. “I need to get my car anyway,”
he pointed out.
”I’ll just walk over to the Palace –“
“I’m taking up home,” McGarrett
countered unwaveringly, opening the door for him.
Williams stood his ground. “I’m not leaving my car overnight in a
parking lot.”
McGarrett seemed almost amused at
the stubborn stance. Almost. “Not even at the state police building?”
“No.”
“Danno – “
“Steve, I’ll go right home. You can take care of your business.” McGarrett’s stare was clearly skeptical, even
in the dying light of the tropical sun drifting down to twilight. “And maybe talk to Duke about some extra
security –“
“Danno, don’t push your luck.”
The tone was sharp and out of
patience. While he had been playing a game of give and take, mostly, Dan now
grew somberly serious. “Steve, Troc was
not kidding.”
“I know. We’ll watch ourselves, trust me.” He patted Dan’s shoulder. “Which applies to you, too,
aikane. He’s not going to thank
you for your role in his capture.”
“Then it makes sense –“
“For you to go
home and stop worrying. I WILL alert HPD and they can coordinate
stepped up security for all law enforcement personnel. I won’t feel we’re done with this fanatic
until all of his gang are behind bars.”
* * * * *
Saturday morning dawned bright and
clear, the sun breaking through pastel clouds over
On a day like this it made every
sacrifice and every hardship worth the effort.
As his tennis shoes paced tracks in the golden sands, he knew his
perspective had everything to do with the end of the violence. There would be much ahead for legal details
and hunting down any errant radicals from Troc’s
insurgents. Spies infiltrating from a hostile country might be many, but he
questioned it. This was probably an
operation sanctioned by the North Vietnamese government, although he doubted
they could ever prove that. FBI and CIA
reps had been conferring with him late into the night, but the meeting was a
mere detail. What happened now beyond the
borders of
An elderly couple at a fruit stand
stopped him to thank him for catching the mad bomber. A little embarrassed at the public praise, he
was waylaid for several moments by other shopkeepers who shook his hand in
recognition of the arrest. It wasn’t all
that unusual to be recognized by the public he served. Head of
Curving up the sand to the
sidewalk on Kalakaua, he steered automatically toward the end of the long,
tree-lined street, where he would usually rendezvous with his friend. Smiling slightly, he knew Danno was probably
still asleep at this hour. He had been
pretty done in last night, and McGarrett had felt serious misgivings about
sending the younger officer home on his own – a slender element of mistrust
still simmering after the disobedience yesterday. Much had been forgiven, though, in light of
the heroic and timely arrival of Williams to literally save the Capitol and
many lives – the Five-0 ohana and his own included.
Coursing along the sidewalk toward
the Ala Wai, he had to stop for a red light.
Jogging in place, he noted his shoe was untied and knelt to tie it. Straightening again, he jogged in place until
the light turned green, but now he was on automatic pilot, his mind working
full time in cop-mode. As he had bent
down, he had spotted a slightly-built Asian woman in short shorts and a
t-shirt, watching him from the beach.
Not unusual, except he had spotted her twice before, he realized in
hindsight. On different stretches of
Unarmed as he usually was for a
jog, he felt the creepy stirrings of apprehension dance across his shoulder
blades as he took to heart Danno’s tenacious warnings of the night before. He did not dismiss the concerns, but felt
they did not apply to him. He was immune
to the rantings of fanatics. He was the head of Five-0 and felt any threat
could be easily dealt with. Now, though,
that the danger seemed possible, he recognized the first flush of anxiety – not
for himself – but others. Danno, mainly,
but Duke and Nick and others had been there last night at the arrest. He could take care of himself, but Danno was
on his own, injured.
Two patrolmen at the corner were
making their morning rounds and McGarrett slowed to a walk, then stopped to
talk to them. When he glanced in the
window of the nearest shop, the Asian woman was not to be seen. Casually, he scanned the street on both
sides, but could not spot her.
Distracted, he tried to focus on
the legitimate reason to talk to the HPD men.
He asked that the
The rest of the jog went with a
slightly increased speed and a great awareness of his surroundings. He resisted the urge to call Danno as soon as
he reached his apartment, telling himself he was imagining a threat and there
was no reason to wake his recovering friend.
The logic lasted until he reached the empty offices of Five-0, the
shadows stretching with sinister shades and the loneliness a tangible weight as
he passed through the still rooms to his own office.
Snatching up the phone, he dialed
the familiar number with impatient stabs, and drummed his fingers in a sharp
tap as he waited. One. Two. Thr --
“Hello.”
Sleepy, but a
welcome and reassuring sound. McGarrett sighed with relief, now feeling
foolish with his worry. “Morning,
Danno. How are you doing?”
“Hey, Steve. I
actually slept in. Was
trying to think of a reason to get out of bed when you called.”
Chuckling, smiling at the
commonplace security of knowing his friend was well and safe, he settled into
his chair. “Good. Listen, just hang loose today and I’ll drop
by with dinner tonight.”
“Great. If I’m not
here, I’ll be on the beach.”
“Don’t get burned.”
“Nah.”
“And no
surfing.”
“No surfing,” the
younger officer laughed.
Hanging up, McGarrett kept his
hand on the receiver, smiling with profound relief. The imagined threat was as wispy as the sea
wind brushing the palm fronds outside his window. All was right in his kingdom.
The usual caseloads had not
disappeared with the arrival of the more urgent bombing violence. Today, although it was Saturday, was the time
to clear up paperwork and see to investigations of lesser crisis.
Jenny did not come in on weekends
unless there was an ongoing crisis. The
detectives fended for themselves with phone calls and coffee, taking messages
for each other in lieu of the secretary.
When the ringing of the outer office line continued for what seemed like
an extremely long time, McGarrett recollected Chin and Ben were out on a call
to
“McGarrett.” His eyes canned the
digital clock, amazed it was after Two in the
afternoon! Where had time gone today?
“Oh, Steve!” A young, female voice. “Is my
dad there?”
“Suzy? No, he’s out on a
case.”
“Oh.”
Nerves sizzled with alarm, and as
he spoke, his mind correlated it was the raw tone of fear in the girl’s voice
that grated on his senses. There was no
question in his mind the young woman was distressed – afraid. “What’s wrong?”
“This is going to sound silly, Steve – I’m sorry – we were
at the zoo and these two guys – two Asian guys – they’re scary, Steve – they
were following us.”
“What!”
“I tried to lose them and they won’t go away and with five
little kids –“
“Suzy, you are NOT a cop! Find one!“
“There’s none around.
As soon as I said something to the security guard at the zoo he couldn’t
see the two guys so I thought we were safe.
But now we’re on our way to the car and the two guys are back! I’m at a pay phone –“
Standing, he pounded his fist on
the desk. “Are there any policemen in
sight?”
“No.”
“Where are you?”
“Over by the tennis courts at
“Stay in the open. Try to keep with the crowds. Get over to Danno’s. I’ll call him, alert him you’re coming and
I’ll call a patrol car. Just take care
of the kids!” He hung up and quickly
dialed his friend’s number, cursing his lack of caution and foresight as the
second ring died away and the call was answered.
“He--“
“Danno, Suzy and the kids are at
the Kapiolani tennis courts and they’re being followed. I’m sending a unit over there, but find them
as fast as you can! Two suspects! Asian. No other description!” he realized. There had not been time! “Back up will be there as quick as I can get
them!”
“Right.”
The phone went dead and he punched
in HPD’s number, demanding patrol units converge as quickly as possible on
Fear was so palpable he felt
insulated from the normal level of being as he spun the car around corners and
screeched through yellow lights, some red lights, conscious
of the temporal act of driving only in the most remote plane. Livid, searing rage crackled at the edges of
his mind, seeping like a red river of lava melting through the senses of
relief, justice and triumph – all the emotions that had played out last night
after the capture of Troc. Wrath –
burning, scalding hatred that an animal who had already butchered innocent
victims with indiscriminate violence was now preying on HIS ohana!
He was going to settle everything
in
* * * * *
“I still don’t know how you’ve
managed it,” Doris Lukela smiled across the table at her friend Mai Kelly. “I would have gone mad with eight children
and married to a cop. A
Five-0 cop!”
It was a beautiful day in
All of the wives felt especially
cheery and bright today and had spent a bit frivolously in what had turned out
to be more than window shopping. They
were all relieved and nearly giddy that the past terror was over. Their husbands had helped to bring down a
horrendous terrorist and, thanks to the police,
“Just keep organized and happy,”
the wise, stocky Oriental woman winked at them, ending with a fond gaze at Mrs.
Kokua. “The mother sets the tone in the
house. No matter how long hours the
husband works, you run things smooth at home and everything works out.”
“Your kids are so good,” Sarah
smiled, “Especially the girls. Not every
teenager would give up a Saturday to baby-sit their
little siblings, plus my little girl!”
Mrs. Kokua sipped her ice water, then poured more from a frosty pitcher in the center of the
table. “I’m so glad to be part of it.”
“She’ll manage just fine,” Dora
Bergman assured as she leaned back in the chair, the afternoon sunlight
catching her gray hair and turning it iridescent silver in the bright glow of
The oldest woman in the group,
Dora was a trim, slim, short woman who didn’t seem affected by all the talk
about babies and children. She had none
of her own, and that could be why she took such a special interest in the
Five-0 ohana hui. She had particularly adopted Steve and Danny
– well – they all had,
Sarah, a beautiful
Polynesian-mixed race girl with long, slender fingers and luxurious, long,
thick hair, smiled sweetly. “I don’t
know how any of you do it. Steve warned
me, when we met the first time, that this would be a demanding job. He was right,” she laughed.
“What an understatement,” Dora
smirked.
There was no rancor in the
statements, for which
“That’s why we’re here to help,”
Mrs. Lukela reminded. This was the
second of their monthly chat sessions with the Five-0 girls as they called
themselves. They had taken on an
unofficial cabal as the fringe support of the cop unit. Little did the men know how much structure
and stability came from what seemed to outsiders like an informal girl-chat routine.
Sarah glanced at her watch and
took another sip of ice water. Mai
smiled and patted her hand. “We’re not
supposed to meet the girls until three. Don’t worry. Suzy and Kelly know how to take care of
kids.”
The oldest Kelly girl was taking
the younger children, and the Kokua toddler, to the zoo while the moms had
lunch in
The other missing person was Jenny
Sherman. She usually joined the girl’s
day out, but was busy catching up with errands.
The stress at the office this week had been horrible, and she had spent
a lot of time at the Palace riding herd on the officers. She had too much backlogged duties at home to
attend to and opted out.
“We better start working on
splitting the check,” Dora suggested, ever practical. She already had a pencil and paper out to
divvy up the bill.
* * * * *
The narrow, two-lane highway
curving toward the north shore wound through picturesque fields of sugar cane
and pineapple. Tom Lukela had a tendency
to speed in the flashy yellow convertible as he headed toward Laie. All the cops on patrol up here knew the
bright car, knew it belonged to Sergeant Lukela and, without telling him,
always looked the other way when his youngest son exceeded the speed
limit. He didn’t do it all the time –
just when he was running late. Like today. Not that
the surf and wahine wouldn’t still be there when he
arrived twenty minutes past his scheduled time, but he was in a hurry anyway.
A black pick up truck appeared
suddenly in his rearview mirror and when the vehicle roared around him on a
blind curve, Tom slowed, wondering if it was locals sucking up too much brew
too early in the day. When they took
their time passing – he noted the Oriental guy driving was so short he barely
cleared the dashboard – Tom flipped his foot off the accelerator and the yellow
Chevy dropped away from the truck.
Within seconds, the truck swerved into his lane. Had he been in his original position he would
have lost the front fender for sure.
Honking, irate at the lolo driver, Tom
breathed out a deep, nervous sigh, recognizing the close call he had with
avoiding an accident in his dad’s prized sports car.
The truck braked suddenly and Tom
had to swerve into the red dirt of the pineapple field on his right, the heavy
convertible swerving and fish-tailing in the soft earth. He barely regained control enough to bring it
to a stop in the shoulder. Clouds of red
dust billowing around, he coughed, muttering angry Hawaiian words at the pupule
driver! When the truck slammed on it’s brakes and backed up toward him, Tom wondered if the
guy was going to apologize or what. Not
wanting anything to do with the nut, he waited until the guy was closer before
he pulled out – no -- the truck was coming right at him!
Throwing the stick into reverse,
Tom floored the pedal and swerved out of the soft soil and onto the
blacktop. Hands flying, he snapped it
into drive when the truck hit the shoulder, and Tom popped back onto the asphalt,
missing the kamikaze truck by mere inches.
Flooring the gas again, he flew along the dipping road, taking the
curves way too fast as he raced to get away.
When he spotted an HPD patrol car
at the Waihiawa circle, he waved at them to
stop. For once upset that he was immune
to being noticed by law enforcement, he sped up to catch them. He was almost around the round traffic
rotation when the black truck appeared, crossing two lanes and coming right at
him in an attempted head-on collision.
At the last second Tom twisted the wheel and braked hard, sending the
yellow Chevy spinning into the dirt again.
The truck crossed just ahead of the sports car and hit the soft red,
volcanic clay too fast. The right side
wheels clogged in the earth and the left wheels kept racing on the blacktop,
twisting the truck and flipping it over several times, finally coming to rest
upside down in the pineapple field.
Tom leaped out of his car and
through the neat rows of spiny green plants.
The two patrolmen were right in back of him.
“Hey, he tried to hit you,” Paul
Nakamura shouted out as the short officer joined him. “What was he trying to do?”
“Hit me,” Tom told him, a little
breathless, and plenty upset, the shaky nerves were just starting to surface.
Officer Raymond knelt down at the
open window on the driver’s side.
Checking for a pulse on the occupant, he shook his head. “
Feeling sick to his stomach, Tom
gulped a big piece of air and looked away from the wreck. “Hey, I need to call my dad,” he told
Nakamura.
Paul checked him out. “You okay?”
“Not really.”
Paul patted his back and led him
over to the patrol unit. “I’ll get you
connected. Why would somebody want to
hurt you?” he wondered.
“I’m hoping my dad can tell us,”
he sighed, determined not to turn around and stare at the smashed truck with
the dead body.
* * * * *
The short Asian was only two steps
away when
“Somebody call
a policeman!” she shouted, to no one in particular.
Dora Bergman was already
moving. She stomped on the man’s hand,
forcing him to drop his weapon on the ground.
Then she called to the head waiter, shouting orders and calling for
someone to notify the police.
The restaurant was abuzz with
alarm and chatter. Tourists were
snapping pictures and waiters were standing off to the side, uncertain what to
do. The man was writhing, shouting and spitting what she took to be curses in
some foreign language. Mai grabbed
another pitcher from a nearby table and smashed it onto his head, chattering
back to him in Chinese. For good
measure, she stood on his shoulder.
With a triumphant look she smiled
at Mrs. Lukela. “Police self-defense training
came in good, didn’t it,
“Sure did,” she smiled.
The stiff gesture kept her lips
tight so she wouldn’t cry from the horrible fear that was just now seeping into
her breaking nerves. What had she
done? She was sure he was there to
attack them! It didn’t make sense! What was Duke going to say/? What would Steve say?
Sarah moved over and, using a
napkin, picked up the knife from the cement and placed it on the table. “He was coming right at you with this,” she
shakily reported. Roughly wiping tears
from her eyes, she said with embarrassment, “I think I’m going to cry. I hate that about pregnancy.”
“It’s all right,”
Mai reached over and patted Sarah
on the shoulder. “I hated that part of
pregnancy, too.” She gestured toward the
covered knife. “Now you’re thinking just
like a cop’s wife.” Mai looked at her cohort,
still kneeling on the perpetrator. “She
is gonna do all right.”
“We all are,”
* * * * *
Grabbing his .38 and his keys,
Williams barely had time to slip on decks shoes, no socks, before he raced out the door. Jogging down the hallway toward the elevator,
he hugged his side. His immediate
thought was of the reprisals from Troc, of course, and was a little shocked
that threats he had warned McGarrett about just the night before might actually
be coming to pass with none of them prepared for the onslaught. Not like this. Not the innocents! Kids!
Stalking kids! Was that so
surprising from the same group of fanatics that bombed women, children and
civilians as targeted enemies in their twisted political statement?
Knowing this might having nothing
to do with the terrorists – hoping it was something stupid like a couple of
wayward teenage boys trying to make time with Suzy, he emerged from the
elevator at a run. Flying into the
garage, zipping the LTD out of its slot in record time, the car jolted out of
the drive. Racing down the tree-lined
avenue along
Sharply turning right, he jammed
the LTD past the knot of fleeing kids, over the curb and onto the lawn. He kept the car aimed toward the strangers.
The surprise assault startled the men and they turned and ran. He SO wanted to ram the car right into them,
ending their career as terrorists for good.
The desire was so strong. They
had attacked kids! Murdered innocent
people! His conscience,
and the thought of how upset Steve would be if he turned as criminal as the bad
guys, surged in his mind. Racing across
the grass, he whipped the car into a tight turn, groaning as his side burned
from the movement, then he slammed on the brakes. In the next instant the jarring THUD of two
running bodies striking the car rocked the LTD.
Leaping from the car, training his
revolver on them, he ordered, “Freeze!
You’re under arrest!” Behind him he
heard the screech of vehicles and shouts – assuming that was back up and
someone seeing to the safety of the kids.
His focus was on the two suspects.
“Put your hands up and kneel on the ground. Now!”
The thugs exchanged looks and
Williams knew they were going to do something stupid instead of
surrendering It was an instinctive
conclusion based on years of experience with criminals – that moment when the
perpetrator thinks he can outsmart, outgun, outmatch the armed cop. It was a bad decision every time; for the
cop, for the suspect, one would lose, maybe both. Knowing he could not just pull the trigger
and murder men who appeared to be surrendering and appeared unarmed, he allowed
the tense drama to play out in strained, painful seconds as he waited for them
to make their move. He could not give in to his passion to take them out. Not unless they resisted.
The man on the right flicked his
hand, pulling a shiny object into his palm.
Williams fired, the bullet striking, he was sure, right in the heart. At the same instant, the man on the left also
made a movement of his hand, pulling something gleaming from his sleeve. Dan angled his revolver to the second man
just as a knife cleared the cuff. The
bullet struck him in the shoulder, throwing him back and to the ground.
Keeping the weapon trained on the
second subject, he crossed to the first and kicked the long knife out of reach
of the suspect he was certain was dead.
The second man, writhing in pain, was rolling on the grass. The officer approached expecting
trouble. Grabbing the man to turn him
over, he was not surprised to find a blade swing at him, catching/pulling him
in the pant leg. The detective went
down, rolled, and fired at the suspect, blowing a hole in the man’s chest.
Before he could move to relieve
the enemy of his weapon, two HPD men were there, one stepping on the man’s hand
while the other snatched up the knife and checked the perpetrator for a
pulse.
“Danno?” Strong hands
gripped his shoulders.
“Okay,” he breathed unevenly,
catching much needed air. “Kids?”
“Okay, Danno, okay. What about you?”
Steve helped him to stand and it
was a good thing the taller man retained his grip. He was suddenly crushed by teens and
children, hugging him wherever they could grab – an arm, a leg, his waist. A few of them shifted to include McGarrett in
the embrace, kisses and tears. As he
traded touched, humbled looks, with the taller man, he knew the tough, lead
detective’s heart was cracking from the narrowly averted disaster and the
emotional aftermath.
“Let’s get you kids to the cars,”
Steve thickly ordered, and started prying them loose.
“Blood. I’m bleeding!” They stopped, staring at the oldest Kelly
daughter who was shocked at the scarlet stain on her clothing, wiping at the red
smear on her blouse. She checked
herself, frantically searching her siblings for wounds, finally turning to the
officers. “Danny, you’re hurt!”
McGarrett stiffened beside him and
Williams brushed at the second Aloha shirt that had been ruined in so many
days. “No, it’s okay. Belongs to the other guy,” he smiled
reassuringly. “Let’s get you guys
home.”
“We’re going to take care of
everything, don’t worry,” McGarrett assured, panning from the frightened
children and teens, to his friend. He
ordered the kids to be placed in his car and a patrol car. Holding onto Williams’ arm, he stalled the
younger officer so they could confer privately.
“We can’t take them home, Danno.
They’ve been targeted. Tom Lukela
was nearly taken out, I heard it on the radio on the
way over here.”
Williams sucked in a deep breath,
outrage and dread coursing along his spine.
“Like coordinated, well planned military strikes,” he breathed out,
shaking his head at the enormity and evil of the attacks.
“Exactly. We are dealing with
strategists in murder, Danno. I want no
one in danger any more.” He critically
eyed the worn officer, eyes lingering on the blood stain on the blue, Hawaiian
print shirt. “Are you sure that’s all
someone else’s blood?”
“I’m fine, really.” He watched the frightened kids pile into the
cars. “What are we going to do?”
“We’re going to protect our people
first. Secondly, we’re going after Troc’s remaining army.”
“Doc was right all along. This is war.”
“Yeah. And we are about to
take offensive measures.”
“What’s our plan?”
“First, we draw the wagons into a
circle.”
Shaking his head at the quizzical
non-answer, the boss guided him by the shoulder to the cars, ordering the
officers, and Danno, to meet at his apartment on the
* * * * *
McGarrett knocked on the guest
room door and was admitted by Williams just as the younger officer buttoned a
large, long-sleeved aloha shirt grabbed from McGarrett’s closet. The boss leaned against the door frame, staring
out the open window as Williams bundled his soiled shirt into a ball and placed
it on the dresser. Given the chance to regroup from the frantic action of the
afternoon, both officers had emotionally retreated to a calmer state, but the
anger and insult still hovered in the air.
The tension was evident from McGarrett’s clenching jaw and his fists
that tightened and released in rhythmic stress.
“What are we going to do?”
Williams finally asked, easing himself onto the corner of the sofa bed. It hurt to move much and his posture was as
straight as he could manage with redressed bandages taped to his side. “We can’t let the ohana be exposed to these
terrorists.”
“We won’t.” The terse vow was low and deadly.
Williams stared at his
friend. They would both prefer to hunt down
the remaining anarchists and kill them with their bare hands. That wasn’t going to happen, but the
motivation was more than sufficient for such renegade actions. The heart of their unit had been attacked in
the most obscene way – the innocent women and children! That could not be allowed! With criminals, masterminds, even mobsters,
there had always been an unwritten law that even the most heinous bad guys had
never crossed. No one had messed with
the families before. This could not
stand. By whatever means necessary,
McGarrett would not allow the violence to go further.
“We have to protect the ohana.”
The curt statements were starting
to worry Dan. His friend had a tendency
to show a blind side to personal protection.
Troc had screamed threats to Steve when
captured. Not just the ohana were at
risk. Whatever kind of personal
sacrifice Steve had in mind he already knew he didn’t like.
“I want to make sure YOU’RE
protected,” he point-blank clarified to the leader. “You’re more at risk than anyone, Steve. Whatever your plan has to
take your safety into consideration as much as anyone elses.”
The dark head nodded. “And I want you to be safe, Danno. I think what I’m proposing, though, no one
will like.”
Stiffening at the near challenge,
the younger officer girded himself for an argument. “What do you have in mind?”
Turning his gaze to silently
scrutinize the shorter man, McGarrett stared at him with unnerving, deep
contemplation for a moment. “Something that is necessary, but will be universally unpopular.”
“As long as you don’t include me,
I’m with you, Steve.”
Emotions played across the taut
face. McGarrett looked away, but reached
out and patted his friend’s shoulder.
“This time your loyalty is a double-edged sword, aikane. A double-edged sword.”
* * * * *
Several patrol units were
stationed downstairs in the parking area of the white apartment building facing
the
Scanning the faces filled with
high emotions- fear, hope, loyalty, McGarrett flexed his fists, flushed with
anger and pain. His ohana had been
attacked. Not just his men, who were
armed and well prepared to fight back. Families. Children and women . . . . It sickened him
like never before to know HIS ohana was vulnerable and afraid and targets. Huddled together, hugging each other in
family groups, it made him supremely wrathful for vengeance, and humbled that
they all looked to him for intrinsic safety and emotional courage.
Sarah and Ben Kokua sat close
together, the big Samoan tightly wrapping an arm around his slighter wife,
plus, holding hands, their daughter Mele strolling
between the parents and their new found babysitters, the Kelly girls.
On the end of the sofa,
Like the other adults in the large
space, Chin Ho and Mai Kelly were subdued.
They sat sandwiched by their little children clinging to them, sensing
the import of the gathering.
The Bergmans sat side by side in
two matching chairs, with Jenny Sherman in a chair next to them, Officer Nick Kamekona standing behind her.
All the concerned parties were
gathered on the sofas or chairs or floor, attentively awaiting guidance and
reassurance, from him, McGarrett considered as he surveyed the group. All were ragged, upset, dressed the way they
were when the crisis events came down.
The Lukela boys in trunks and t-shirts, and the Kelly boys were in
baseball uniforms. All of them snatched
out of their normal lives, disrupted – uprooted. Troc and his gang had a lot to answer for and
would pay for all of the anguish they caused his ohana.
Incongruously dressed in one of
Steve’s oversized shirts, Danno stood in the back, somewhat cleaned up from his
tangle in the park. Leaning against the
wall, watching in silent anger, the younger officer appeared pale and worn,
still not recovered from the slashing of yesterday, but his raw, desperate
emotions, which were clearly readable, stood out more
than the physical weaknesses.
The fear phase had been replaced
for all the men with determined reprisals.
Yes, they were going to seek justice.
Yes, they would follow the dictates of the laws they were sworn to
uphold. But with the most minor excuse
or slip by the terrorists, justifiable retribution would be served by any one –
or all – of the officers here.
“We’ve all been targeted. None of us can afford to take safety for
granted.” He was used to being blunt in
his business, and found it difficult to dance around the truth of the facts
with so many children present. “For the
sake of the families, I am giving you officers leave to take your ohana to
safety. I want them off
“Steve, that doesn’t include me,
right?”
His glare was unwavering. “Yes, it does.”
“You’re going to need me to keep
things organized,” Jenny spoke up quietly, timid to break the stunned silence,
but used to going against the boss. “I
can’t leave.”
“I’ve got autopsies to finish –“ Bergman interrupted.
“We’ve still got a lot of work to
do,” Chin chimed in.
Ben’s anger was evident as he
snapped out, “We want to catch all of the creeps who are responsible, Steve. That’s the only way our families will be
safe.”
The stern mask on his determined
face must have alerted them that he was not going to debate with anyone. “You’re leaving. All of you.”
It was not an option. The
harshness in his tone assured this was a royal edict that would not be
overturned. “Five-0 is going to have to
function without it’s top people. It won’t be smooth,
but the staff will be replaced with temps from HPD – armed and able to protect themselves.” The
woman he had thought was trailing him, he now believed as he had time to think
about the photos they had on the terrorists, that she was one of Troc’s gang. “There
are still two terrorists at large. I
will not risk any one of you. I’ll want
your locations given to me so I can contact you. Give them to NO ONE else. Do not go home. Do not contact any friends or family members
about your specific whereabouts. If I
could I would put all of you up in safe houses, but we just don’t have enough
to go around for this kind of operation.”
“So you and Danny are going to go
it alone,” Bergman sighed, shaking his head.
“You’re not abandoning us, Doc,”
Williams quietly supplied from the back of the room. “You’re freeing our anxieties about your
safety so we can put all our energies into catching Troc’s
terrorists.”
McGarrett only glanced at his
friend, directing his gaze, instead, out the glass, at the clear blue of the
serene sky, the deep indigo of the rugged mountains, the billowy, cotton-candy
clouds sailing into view through the wide picture windows. As it sometimes seemed destined to be, it was
down to Danno and him.
If he could compel his friend to
leave, he would, but there was no use bothering to even broach the
subject. Danno would never abandon him
no matter what he said. And if something
happened to Danno in all this? He would
never forgive himself, of course, so he would have to make very sure his friend
was protected. That had not been so easy
yet. The stabbing yesterday, the
pell-mell flight to the Capitol to save them last night, then the insane rescue
in the park today. Danno was in this
whether Steve wanted him involved or not.
In truth, he NEEDED him. As much
as he wanted Danno safe, his need to have his right hand man at his side now
was greater than his personal fear. He
didn’t think he could pull this off alone.
Nonchalantly holding his side,
making it look like he was just crossing his arms across his torso, Danny
mostly ignored the throbbing of his wound.
There was so much more to think about than a little bit of physical
discomfort. He listened silently to the
ultimatum from McGarrett, hurting in a way far more profound than his physical
injury. His friend was emotionally pained
and deeply troubled by the attacks on their friends. If these terrorists wanted war, then that’s
exactly what they were going to get now.
Steve – all of them – would not give up.
United against a common foe as never before, all of Five-0 and HPD would
tirelessly fight to preserve their loved ones and defeat the thugs threatening
their lives. This was one of those
all-for-one-and one-for-all situations where the crisis bonded them together
tighter than ever.
Discussing it only briefly with
McGarrett before this group meting, Williams was not surprised they were going
to disperse the team and send them away to care for their families. Leave only the two of them – elua pu
– two together – to stand against the threat.
Kaikaina and kaikua'ana against the world to
protect their ohana. It warmed
him that Steve had not asked, just expected, that he would want/need to be
included in manning the fort with his big brother. And in supporting Steve, in helping the ohana
– including Steve – he would not fail.
Clearing his
throat, as if to slide away the profound emotions catching there, McGarrett
continued. “As of now, when you leave here, you’ll be
escorted to your destinations by undercover officers who will assure you are
not followed.” Steve bore his intensity
into each one of them, staring into their eyes so they would feel his determination
and pain at the terrible place he had been cornered. “I promise you,” he vowed, his voice shaking,
“that we will get every last one of them.
And you will be safe. I
promise.” Turning quickly, he left the
apartment, unable to face them for any kind of pleas or farewells.
Wishing them all luck, exchanging
emotional hugs with the women and handshakes with the men, Danny could hardly
speak from the knot in his throat. Ben
traded a quick hug and a muttered warning that Danny better keep in touch. The Samoan was angry,
hurt that he could not stay, and upset at the danger to his family.
Duke patted his shoulder and took
him aside. “Danny, if it looks like more
than you can handle, you better get us back on the first plane.”
“Absolutely.”
Jenny clung to him in a long and
desperate clinch. He sucked up the moan
of pain from the pressure on his wound as she scolded him. “You take care of Steve.” She sputtered out a hiccough of a grim
laugh. “That’s the last advice I need to
give you. I know there’s no one better
to have at his side.”
Dora Bergman was more emotional
than he’d seen her in a long while. She
hugged him tenderly, mindful of the recent injury, and wiped away a tear
sliding down her face. “Be careful,” she
whispered, touching her lips to his cheek.
“Just take care of yourself, my boy,” Bergman ordered with a pat on the
back. “You’re both too noble for your
own good.”
As best he could, Danny made quick
work of getting them organized with escorts and packed away. It was a tough job and he understood why
Steve could not handle it. Too
emotional, too heart-breaking to see the fear, gratitude and censure in the
faces of people they loved.
This was one of the hardest parts
of his role as the second for Five-0 – as Steve’s friend. The shielding, the
protection of a man who wanted to be invulnerable, but was not. The support of someone so deeply admired by
friends, yet who had such a difficult time dealing with the depth of emotions
generated by those closest to him. It
was not a task Williams regretted or resented, but it was not an easy job to
act as a buffer between McGarrett and a world that did not really understand
him.
END OF PART ONE