Masterstroke
by
gm
RATED PG for
intensity
*****
Five-0 fails an investigation with horrific results
*****
June 1976
Before he opened his eyes, Steve McGarrett reached a level of
semi-consciousness that was familiar ground.
Too many times had he drifted within this middle plane between
wakefulness and sleep; between cogent awareness and mach-memory. The confusing state separated him from
complete awareness of pain, and a nominal understanding that he was, in some
way, injured and hurting.
First senses were also familiar:
scent/taste -- the enfolded texture of the close space. Metal doors? A Navy vessel? Even more apparent was the smell of adhesive,
astringent and disinfectant. A sickbay aboard ship?
However, it wasn’t moving. A cell?
No memories; fuzzy, remote or otherwise, came to
mind about recent activities with the Navy. Pushing aside that mystery, he automatically
moved along to the habitual assessment he clicked off whenever he slowly
regained consciousness and was damaged.
The most obvious problem was the pain in his head. Everything above the neck throbbed. His right side, and/or arm also seemed
impaired -- weighed down by some weight.
Had he been shot? In an accident? There was absolutely no recollection, no clue
as to what he was doing here.
The inventory lasted only seconds.
Curiosity and the natural inclination to solve puzzles drove him to the
next level beyond empty speculation and confusion. The only way to find the answers was to fully
awake and discover the solutions first hand.
Blinking, to his alarm, he found he could not open his eyes! His face was covered! Alert agitation, driven by surging adrenalin,
pumped him into terrified action and he reached up to feel his face. The weight on his right arm collided with his
head in an aching thunk.
Feeling with his left hand, he understood the hard restriction on his
right hand and arm -- a cast. And on his face -- adhesive bandages. What had happened? He had no memory of injury. The last thing he remembered -- he strained
past the insidious terror creeping into his nerves. He was on a case. He was meeting someone -- Danno -- meeting
Danno. What had happened?
The sound of door broke through the panic. “Danno! What’s going on?”
His friend placed a steady hand on his arm and he released a sigh of
heartfelt relief. No matter what had
happened, Danno was here. He would
explain everything. And
everything would be all right. Allowing
the fear, and release, to show, he demanded, “Danno. Are you all right?”
A cleared throat sounded loud and foreign. Not Danno. Instantly his guard went up and he pulled his
arm away. Even in his muddled, pained
and unsettled state, he knew the “sense” of his friend;
the sound of Williams’ voice even with such a slender clue. This was not his second-in-command.
“Where’s Danno?”
“Very perceptive, Mr. McGarrett. I’m Doctor
Renfield. I’m sure this is all very
frightening for you.” The voice was
calm, but with an underlying foundation of authority. This man was used to issuing orders and
taking control. “Let me assure you that
you are not seriously injured. The
bandages on your eyes are mostly for protection. You have a fractured right elbow and wrist,
and some general abrasions and bruises, but are in very good shape considering
you were hit by so much debris and falling dirt.”
“What?”
“Not to be concerned. I’ve cleaned out your eyes.
In a few days we’ll remove the bandages and all will be well.”
His head ached so intently his ears were ringing. Concussions were difficult to deal with, and
this one was a heavy one. He had trouble
focusing on the conversation and what he should be asking. Not having Danno here -- talking with a
stranger while he was so vulnerable -- knocked him off balance. A weakness he refused to display.
“What happened?”
“You don’t remember?”
“I -- no -- I don’t remember an accident . . . .”
The throat cleared again. “Well,
I’m not sure what to say, Mr. McGarrett. Your confusion is understandable, I
suppose, and --“
Don’t admit the Achilles' heel, he harshly
reminded himself. He was at a terrible
disadvantage; sightless, friendless, disoriented. Don’t admit
anything, was his instinctive, mental snap back to POW training in the Navy.
“Tell me what happened!” he demanded.
Assertive language and attitude were his only weapons right now. Go on the offensive right off the bat and don’t let them see the doubt inside, the uncertainties
hovering just under the surface.
The door opened again. Another flash of hope that it would be Danno. Instead of surrendering to his expectation,
rather than reveal his vulnerabilities again, he was more
guarded this time.
“Who is it?”
“Commander Sinclair,” a mild, easy, young voice responded. “Sorry I’m late. I was hoping to be here when you awoke, Mr.
McGarrett. I’m sure you’d like to know
what happened after the explosion.”
“Uh, Commander, Mr. McGarrett doesn’t remember --“
“What explosion?”
The room became very still, as if everyone was holding their breaths.
“You really don’t remember?”
With that evasive, obvious question, Steve lost his final thread of
patience. It snapped under the strain of
irritation and suspense -- crowding out the anxieties and confusion and leaving
only a familiar need to regain command of his world.
“Look, gentlemen, I’m not about to be interrogated here! Tell me what you are talking about. And I demand
you get Dan Williams in here now!”
“Dan Williams? One
of your Five-0 people?” The
commander wondered, his confusion clear in the voice.
“Yes.” The ire faltered. “He’s not with you?”
Momentarily, Steve lost his newly formed sense of
certainty. Usually Danno was the one
hovering around until Steve was awake and oriented after an injury. Blind and unable to remember what happened --
being without Williams -- was setting his nerves on edge worse than ever. Instead of succumbing to the fear, he shifted
it into incensed belligerence. To convince
himself he was not alone and helpless, he fought to recall anything that would
give him a clue to what had happened to him.
*****
“Steve,
we’re never going to find these guys at this rate.”
The
moan was a self-pitying sigh laced with bone-deep fatigue. McGarrett looked up from his intent study of
the map spread across his desk and yielded a sympathetic glance at his
second-in-command. Chin was snoring
softly, head dropped on the corner of the side table. Duke was asleep on the
sofa. Williams was slumped over another map on the long table at the side of
McGarrett’s office.
He
wished they could all go home. He would
like to give in and allow Danno to take a break, get some sleep like their
exhausted colleagues. But
he couldn’t. They were fighting the
clock in a real -- desperate -- life and death crisis and he could not give
up. He could not allow his friend to,
either, but he knew that Williams would never give up. If he were here, sticking it out, Danno would
be here, too, without being asked. That was how they worked together. How it always was.
“We
have to, Danno.”
There
was no sympathy in the tone. No time for it. Just
as the complaint had been a cliché, so was the response. No margin for error.
Rubbing
his face, Williams fought to focus, to stay awake. He stood, stretched, and came over to lean on
the desk. “We’ve gone over everything a
hundred times, Steve. Every available
officer and agent is combing
“I
don’t know.”
Williams
gave a tired nod and shuffled out of the office. He returned with two cups of coffee. Putting them both on the desk
he moved over to stare out the lanai.
“Hard to imagine this could all be gone in a blink of an eye.”
“We
won’t let that happen!” It was a growl,
a threat, a vow.
Dan
nodded, turned back, grabbed his cup and trudged to the table.
McGarrett
was surfing a wave of tension that was overwhelming him. He was out of patience and time. He knew his friend understood that, so he didn’t have to mention the barking desperation was not
focused on Danno, but on the situation.
They were fighting the insanity. Fighting to save their world. After it was over, after they won, there
would be time for sleep and civility and acting like cops again instead of
reacting in the surreal roles of superheroes.
=====
Gentle shaking brought him from the reverie.
“Mr. McGarrett?”
“What?”
“Did you remember something?”
“Tell me what happened, gentlemen!
Now!”
“All right,” the Commander relinquished unhappily. “Obviously we will get nowhere until we give you
some peace of mind, Mr. McGarrett, but I’m afraid I can’t give that to
you. None of us will enjoy that again
for a very long time, I’m afraid.” Another deep, profound, unsettling pause. “You are in the secure government facility
inside
Another memory -- he was certain it was a memory not a dream --
surfaced.
=====
“Chin
on the phone,” Williams reported, holding the receiver in his hand.
McGarrett
must have dozed off. He sat up, abruptly
trying to come to his feet and think and instantly be
on track. Snapping the speaker on, he
demanded, “What have you got, Chin?”
“A
man matching Chong’s description was spotted at the
“Coast
Guard could track it,” Williams suggested, and moved to the phone on the small
side table. He dialed a number, then asked for a description.
Chin
Ho Kelly supplied the details on the size, color and partial registration of
the boat. Chin volunteered to stay there and keep
tracking leads. McGarrett assigned
Williams to board the Coast Guard cutter and search the
McGarrett
hung up and stared at the phone, numb from overwork and stress. The fatigue was making him slow,
keeping him from being sharp and completely in control. He knew they could solve this desperate
mystery, but their own limitations were holding them back. They -- he -- just could not allow that!
Before
he disappeared out the door, Williams stopped, his
expression grave and concerned. “Steve, maybe you should join the Governor.”
McGarrett felt insulted. “My job here is trying to
stop this insanity. I’ll
go get the chopper and cover the docks and the channel from the air. We can’t let them leave the city.”
“Yeah.
Maximum effect,” he grimly agreed. Then Dan offered sincerely, “Good
luck, Steve.”
After
Williams left he wanted to say more. He should have
said something else -- a personal note to show his concern for his friend. "Good
luck to you, too, Danno." They would all need it. There just wasn’t time. They were far beyond trite pep-talks. They could not fail. It was not acceptable.
=====
“Inside
“Danno?”
The lack of knowledge about his second-in-command was annoying. “Officer Williams,” he curtly corrected. “Where is he?
Why isn’t he here?”
The doctor responded, “A nickname.
That’s the nickname for your Five-0 officer.”
McGarrett fought to orient himself by taking control of the
conversation. “Why am I here?”
“I don’t know why you came here,” the Commander started again, “but I
know how you ended up here, or why. When
the crater collapsed you were in the access
tunnel. Fortunately, you were right next
to the secure reception area so you got very little of the debris. Your injuries are pretty slight considering.”
“Debris. From an explosion.
What explosion?”
“From the bomb, of course.”
“What bomb?”
Now the Commander was exasperated.
“The case you were working on for Jonathan Kaye. Don’t you remember the Taiwanese spies?”
A flash-almost-memory flickered, but there was no substance there. Spies, Jonathan Kaye; it had happened so many
times before, he wasn’t sure what the case was this
time. He didn’t
have a chance to respond, Sinclair continued.
“We thought they only had the various parts. We didn’t know they
assembled it. They must have detonated
it accidentally. Or
perhaps your police precipitated something -- caught them and panicked
them. Doesn’t matter now, does it?”
The theories rippled new anxieties coursing through his nerves. He had sent his men out to find spies with bombs? While he had come to
“What was that, Mr. McGarrett?”
He allowed himself a sigh of relief.
“What were the spies doing in
“You don’t understand,” came the solemn
reply. “Don’t you remember?” The exasperation and agony came out clearly
in every enunciation. “No one is all
right.”
Even as the dreaded words were spoken McGarrett
remembered the emotions, the frantic obsession to find the bomb and keep his
island and millions of people safe. That
was his duty, his responsibility. He had
sent his men out there to find the spies and arrest them. Keep
“I’m sorry, Mr. McGarrett. Taiwanese agents smuggling plutonium out of the country. Do you remember?"
"Plutonium . . . ." It
was so hard to grasp ideas around the pain smashing into his mind. The dreaded word slammed fears and
recollections into his thoughts. “The
plutonium –smugglers -- “
"You suspected they were smuggling plutonium out of the
country. You remember the
Vague snippets of clues were filtering back now. “Lee.”
“Yes. The accident became a
Five-0 case because your coroner detected high levels of radiation on him.”
“Yes,” Steve vaguely remembered.
It was the innocuous beginning of a much larger case. A mystery that would
embroil them in a desperate race against time. “We traced the man to
“And you never suspected the
Nuclear bomb?
Steve was too numb to speak.
Something nebulous and disturbing was niggling at the back of his brain,
but he couldn’t grasp onto it – couldn’t pull it
through to his memory to link it with a reasonable conclusion.
The officer continued in a somber tone.
“The plutonium -- we had no idea how much they had. They had everything they
needed, it turned out. The bomb was on a ship in the harbor. Maybe they were going to detonate it at
McGarrett shook his head, unable to comprehend what he heard. He denied they had failed, even as he knew
the Commander was speaking the truth.
Five-0 had been searching the island along with every Federal and State
agency and service. Without causing
panic they quietly, but urgently, combed
There was no way to grasp the horror, but he connected to the grief
without fully accepting the reality.
Shaking his head, denying the inevitable, he repulsed the horrible concept,
even as he knew it must be true. He sent
his detectives -- his friends out to the harbor. To ground zero.
The bandages dampened, quickly becoming soaked, and the tears seeped
through to stream down his cheeks.
Trembling, he curled his cold body against the solid, chill concrete
wall and tried to reject the engulfing disbelief, shock and incomprehensible
pain. Suddenly, the devastating loss of
eyesight became secondary. His universe
-- the island paradise he loved -- his home, his friends, his life were pulverized.
Everything was dust on the wind.
He wept.
*****
More than most men, Steve McGarrett understood the meaning of
numbness. He had experienced a complete
null ness of senses when he first met Wo Fat many
years before. The sensory depravation
chamber was probably the most hideously effective torture devised. Sleep deprivation, drugs, even physical
torture certainly took their toll, but the utter absence of orientation --
sounds, sight, touch, direction -- had been mind-boggling. Of course, he had been prepared with hypnosis
-- his cover story to counter the torture.
It had saved him from insanity.
The method of torment now was different, yet so alarmingly similar. It was only a partial limitation on the
physical side, but unqualified devastation on an emotional level. Even through the sedative he knew he’d been given, he couldn’t orient his grief.
At first, he would approach it on the denial level: this could not have
possibly happened. Then
the humanitarian aspect -- the loss of so many people, friends, colleagues,
strangers, tourists. The destruction of beauty -- paradise.
Only glancingly could he even think about the loss of those closest to
him. The three friends he had sent out
to the harbor to investigate the threat.
A threat he was confident they would defeat.
Then he would mentally draw back, remotely aware he was weeping, still
too dazed to take in the real impact of ruin of his beloved island
paradise. Too tormented with guilt, loss
and horror to comprehend the death of those he loved.
“Mr. McGarrett. I think you
should eat something.”
“No.”
Steve drew in a sharp breath. So
distracted, he was unaware the doctor was in the room. He simply shook his head. Every time the physician or
commander came in he refused to communicate, refused to eat. How could he have an appetite? What was there to say? The people of
There was no escaping the mental agony.
He could not move to a window and distract his thoughts. His only focus was mental -- inside -- and
the images there haunted him continually.
He saw the place he loved. Faces
of his friends, their families, those he cared about -- and knew they were all
gone. The trusting, last images of Chin,
Duke, and Danno -- they were the worst to endure. He had driven them mercilessly. Exhausted, discouraged, he had sent them out
to their deaths and they had willingly fulfilled their obligations. They were dead. He was safe and alive.
The ache of loss started to filter into his emotions again, and he
brutally fought them off, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain and the
tears. To think about the total damage,
the collective destruction was too staggering to grasp. But the individual
and personal loss of friends traumatized him.
He tried to think of the case, the smugglers, and the faces of the
spies. Instead, all he could recall were
those last few days at the Palace. Work, work, work. It
never seemed to end. And
not just during this crisis. His whole
existence seemed centered on the office.
Except for a few isolated days snatched here and there – minor holidays
he allowed himself every few weeks – his life WAS Five-0.
Those memories of brief respite brought incredible torment: the beaches
he would never walk again, the golf courses that were now
incinerated to crisps, the boat that was turned to ash in a devastated
harbor.
As hard as he fought against the memories, however, they continued to
assail him. Snippets of moments, small
scenes, little pictures of daily life filtered in and
out despite his best efforts to stop the onslaught of painful and treasured
experiences:
The last Sunday he had stolen away to work on his boat. Williams, on call but not on duty that day,
had come out to help repaint the rails.
No criminal alerts had interrupted and they ended up arriving late to a
pleasant and enjoyable luau at Danno’s club.
Last month Duke had invited the whole staff to a family luau. The sun had been perfect, the kalua pig
incredible. Dan had tried to pick up on one of the Lukela cousins, only to find her
boyfriend was a jealous, three-hundred pound construction worker. They teased him the rest of the night. And Chin’s kids
formed an impromptu chorus and sang old Hawaiian songs late into the
night. The next day Duke left a little
hula doll on Dan’s desk to remind him of the humorous incident.
That was all gone, now. Most hurting of all, the emptiness of losing Danno. Of all the friends and associates he would
never forget and always miss, Danno was most like a brother to him. Loyal and dedicated to a fault, he had been
doing his job and supporting McGarrett when he was blasted out of
existence. Sickened and desolate, Steve
laid his head in his hands and tried to repress the tears that again threatened
to seep through the bandages.
A cool hand touched his. “Here’s
a spot of tea. That should help.”
He had forgotten someone else was in the room. The doctor. He didn’t want to
talk to the doctor, or anyone right now.
Steve pulled his hand back.
“No. No thank you.”
The doctor grunted with disapproval.
“Everything is a bit chaotic still, as you can imagine,” he stated sitting down in a chair nearby. “But I can send for a psychiatrist to
communicate --“
“No.”
“Perhaps you would like to discuss --“
“No.”
What could he possibly have to say?
How is Honolulu coping? There IS
no Honolulu! To fail to such a complete
stage was far beyond anything ever imaginable.
He was alive. So many others
cremated.
‘How are my detectives? Dead. I should have
been with them, but I wasn’t. Why?’
He didn’t know.
He didn’t remember how he ended up in the
safety of an underground bunker. Did it
really matter? His conscience was
perhaps shying away from the real answer.
It would solidify his guilt if he remembered.
So, uncharacteristically, a hurt and
emotionally damaged Steve McGarrett avoided the truth.
He couldn’t even ask for details about the
other areas of
“How is the Governor?”
“Oh, fine as far as I know. I
forget what island he is on, but he and the other government leaders who
evacuated are all fine I should think. Not my bailiwick.
Hawaii is under martial law, naturally.
The winds have blown the fall-out to the west. Out to sea.”
“Evacuated?” He didn’t remember that.
They were supposed to be in the Diamond Head facility. “What island?”
“I can’t say. Sorry. I don’t know your islands well.”
“He was here, at the Diamond Head facility!”
The chair nearby squeaked, as if the other man was moving. There was a moment of silence. Strained – Steve could feel the tension.
“I don’t know anything about that,” the doctor responded stiffly.
A mystery. And a reminder of his duty.
He clutched onto them with fervent need, thankful for a
distraction. Work was always his path to
recovery. “Has he asked to speak with
me?”
“I don’t know. Communications to
this facility are all tied up as you can imagine. You’re rather stuck
for a while, I’m afraid. The radiation
is still too high for us to leave. They
estimate the winds will blow everything clear in a few more days. Then we can evacuate you to another island to
complete your recovery. Although, by
then, I’m hoping your eyes will be completely healed.
“Please tell Commander Sinclair I’d like an update of conditions as soon
as possible. And I’d like to talk to the
Governor.”
“Are you remembering things about your last actions? Do you remember the case you were working
on?”
“Bits.” The case. It all occurred
in a different world. When he opened his
eyes again everything would be changed. It was changed
now. “How long has -- when . . . . “
“Two days ago. You’ve
been drifting in and out. A little help from a mild sedative. It was all a bit overwhelming for you, I’m
afraid.”
For the first time Steve noted Renfield seemed to have the faintest hint
of a British accent. It gave him slight
comfort that he was beginning to think like a cop again. Ask questions, wonder, and seek answers.
When the Commander came in the doctor left. Steve reluctantly allowed Sinclair to
question him. He wanted answers more FROM than FOR McGarrett, and Steve resented being on this
side of an interrogation. They decided
to start with the last thing he remembered -- driving his car toward the
harbor. At the Ala Wai helipad he would take a helicopter to work air support for
his men who were searching the harbor on foot or in boats. His memory stopped before he got to the
chopper.
“Please, tell me everything you remember,” the Commander
urged, his voice sharp with anticipation.
This was important to the young man and McGarrett strained to pull up
something . . .
Perhaps, considering the horror of the events, he didn’t
want to remember. Hysterical amnesia seemed
demeaning, but he couldn’t deny the diagnosis was a
possibility. His world and the people he
loved were ash. The tough Irish cop was daunted by the calamity.
As much as he tried, he could start to fool himself, fool the Navy
personnel helping him, but it was all an act that was only skin
deep. Inside he was hurting so
much he could hardly function. His
bluster about going on the offensive and taking the tough, aggressive stance
was nothing more than a thin veneer. In
reality, he was alone and vulnerable and desolate with grief.
Remaining silent, he knew that he had stumbled onto something important
here. He was supposed to get to the
harbor, to get to the chopper, but he was beginning to wonder if that ever
happened. Backtracking, he recalled
driving to the Ala Wai. He had been on
=====
The
long, side table in McGarrett’s office cluttered with papers and food; cups of
coffee, plates of dried sandwiches, cartons of saimin and sweet and sour
chicken, and plates of stale donuts. Another late night for
the state police detectives.
The
summer winds of tropical twilight drifted through the office unnoticed as anything
special -- nothing extraordinary about another perfect day in paradise . . .
.
“Hey,
I think I just got a lead on the Kahala robbery blitz.”
McGarrett
finished writing down a word on the chalkboard and turned to observe the
energetic second-in-command of Five-0 as Danny Williams rushed into the
room. Through the open lanai doors a plumeria-scented breeze drifted into the office on
the warm, streaming, dying sunshine.
Amused,
he wondered, “You think you got a lead?”
The
energetic younger detective continued his exciting announcement, not phased by
the sarcasm of his superior. “Remember I
interviewed that tourist who thought she might have taken a picture of someone
suspicious around the time of the last robbery?
Well, she was right. I had her
film developed. Some nice calendar shots
by the way. And guess who else?”
Before
McGarrett could respond to the rhetorical question, Williams shoved a stack of
pictures into his hand. On the top was a
blow-up of a hefty Polynesian with long, wavy hair and a face that looked like it had been hit by a brick wall a few times.
“Yeah
-- uh -- “ he
snapped his fingers, as if it would help his memory jog into place.
“Tiki.
His nickname is Tiki, but his real name is Theodore Sanders. Has a string of
B&E charges on his rap sheet and a handful of assault charges. So what’s he doing at the Kahala Hilton at
their torch ceremony?”
“I
guess you better find out,” was the laconic advice as he shuffled through the
rest of the photos. “And you should
probably drop these by the Hilton and thank your witness.” He gave a nod. “She knows how to frame a sunset. Nice composition.”
“Yeah.”
Smirking,
McGarrett handed back the photos. “I was
talking about the scenery.”
Laughing,
Williams gave a knowing lift of his eyebrows.
“Yeah.
So was I.”
Shaking
his head, Steve chuckled. “Well, before
you start asking her out on the State’s time card, ask
her and the staff out there if anyone noticed Tiki hanging around during or
after their nightly luau.”
The
phone rang and he crossed the office, unusually aware of the freshness of the
night, of the scents and sounds and ambiance that
permeated everything around him. When he
picked up the phone and learned it was from Jonathan Kaye in
Taiwanese
agents working in various locations around the
Hanging
up, Steve stared out at the Palace grounds, watched the palm fronds flutter in
the wind. They had dealt with a nasty
conspiracy with bombs before, but that seemed -- different. Perhaps because it all started with a simple
crime and they had unfolded the deadly conspiracy like any other Five-0 case. {episode -- ANYONE CAN BUILD A BOMB} Now, they were enmeshed with spies and causes and agendas that had nothing to do with
this small island paradise. The stakes
were alarming and extreme, just like the terrorists controlling the awesome
atomic power. Maybe Five-0 would be
lucky. Maybe they would find this
plutonium and the spies before anything was happened. Maybe the spies didn’t
have a complete bomb, and this was just part of it. They wouldn’t know
until they found the spies.
“What
is it?”
Dan’s
voice seemed far away. McGarrett pushed
past the incredulity and turned to his officer.
He explained the case, the words, the detailing of the objective. The discussion settled him into a familiar
routine. They were cops. A gang of thugs came here to perpetrate a
hideous crime and they were going to stop them.
Just another day for Five-0.
He didn’t give Williams a chance to sink far into the
incredulous horror of the possibilities.
Briskly he issued orders, centering them on a path of routine
investigation.
“Call
Chin and Duke in here,” he began, patting his friend’s shoulder in
reassurance. “We’ll get Chin going in
the Asian community and get some of his contacts to help us. Duke can start on the HPD database for
politicos who’ve stirred up trouble.”
Falling
into the routine like a trooper, Williams took a deep breath. “Wow.
This is heavy.” For a moment he seemed too anxious to say more. Finally, he refocused. “Want me to liaison with the FBI?”
The
phone rang. McGarrett paced back to the
desk. “This is probably Sullivan
now. Start checking out the freight
services -- air and sea. Let’s see if
anyone suspicious has booked passage for
“Okay.”
As
Williams started to turn away, McGarrett stopped him. “Danno.”
The
younger man halted and spun around.
“This
is just another crime. We’re going to
stop them and it’s going to be all right.”
Williams
nodded, a grin edging his mouth, his face losing some of the worry-shadow.
“Of course.
I’ve got that burglary case and a date with a
tourist to think about. I’m not going to
let nuclear smugglers ruin my plans in paradise.”
=====
Why couldn't he remember anything else about the last moments of normalcy for his world? Why couldn't he connect vital clues . . . .
Maybe because none of it mattered now. What did the failed investigation mean after the destruction of Oahu? After the death of his friends? Nothing. It all meant nothing.
*****
“Steve McGarrett has been unaccounted for most of today and you don’t
consider that a crisis?”
Dan Williams didn’t bother controlling his volume or displeasure while
addressing the Admiral facing him on the dock at
“We have spies on this island with nuclear material, Williams. That’s a hell of a
lot more vital than --“
“The top state law enforcement officer missing during this investigation
is not important?” he cut in savagely.
“They’ve kidnapped Steve! Or killed him! He was
supposed to fly air cover for us and he never showed up at the chopper! They’ve got him.”
The Admiral was a tall, lean man with silver hair and cuttingly sharp
blue eyes. He glared at Williams for a
moment to enhance his sense of literal height over the detective, and his authority both
real and imagined.
“You’re watching too many Fu Manchu movies, Williams. These spies are clever. They tricked us into this false trail. We’ve concentrated
our main forces here and they’re probably at the airport! Get your men back to working the streets and
get us some answers!”
Not intimidated, Williams dismissed the man before he walked more than a
few paces. His mind was working; not on
sending his detectives out to brow-beat informants and
fulfill so called cop duties for the military.
His focus was finding his missing friend.
Everyone involved in the multi-service operation depended on the Five-0
and HPD officers to find the clues so the rest of the services could act on the
information. No one could comb the
streets of
So far, Five-0 had discovered the identities of several Taiwanese
operatives who were being hidden by Chinese
expatriates. Among these fugitives were
some spies who had histories of smuggling armaments. San Lee, a man killed in a traffic accident,
inadvertently alerted the local cops that the smugglers were still here. Information found in his possession suggested
the plutonium was heading for
Three days earlier, the State Department had informed McGarrett that
stolen plutonium was headed toward
Williams walked over to the sedan where Chin Ho Kelly and Duke Lukela
waited for him. “I’ll show him Fu
Manchu,” he darkly muttered, and for a fleeting, cold moment wondered what Wo Fat was doing these days.
Everyone else was on
“What did he say?” Chin asked, glaring at the departing Admiral and his
cadre of SPs and followers.
“He doesn’t think it’s very important that Steve is missing.”
Duke exchanged a glance with the Oriental detective, then
looked at Williams with gravely shaded eyes.
“You know, Danny, Steve sometimes goes off on his own --“
“Not like this, Duke,” Williams assured flatly. “He would have said something if he came up with
a brainstorm, or if some lead came up. If he could.” He glanced around, missing the beautiful
scenery and perfect weather, consumed only with dark worry. “Between the Palace and here he disappeared.”
Issuing assignments, he ordered Kelly to check on any officers who might
have seen McGarrett, or his car in the last hour. He told Lukela to start questioning people
around the dock and harbor area and work his way back
downtown. Williams would return to the
Palace and start from there.
Driving away, Dan forced his mind to work the problem logically. He was suffering from stress, exhaustion and
the literal threat of a nuclear bomb hanging over their heads. Adding to that the disappearance at this
critical time of his closest friend, he was amazed at the cool, even detached
professionalism that was settling over him.
He was agonized about his friend’s safety, but somehow, through some
deep instinct, knew that this kidnapping was proof that Five-0 was close. They were going to solve this,
they were going to save
Waiting to turn onto Ala Moana from Hobron, Williams watched the
tourists cross the street. It was just
another day in paradise for all these people and he was
reminded of the vital mission of finding the
Watching the pedicab disappear around the corner of the Ilikai, Dan
suddenly realized he had forgotten a basic tenant of investigation. Whipping the LTD around, he chalked up his
oversight to fatigue, otherwise, he would have known the best people to help
were the ones that no one noticed. The hotel workers, the pedicab drivers, the door attendants. The invisible army of
workers that no one paid attention to, but were always around, watching and
remembering the trivia of life.
Screeching the car to a halt in front of the Ilikai, Dan questioned
three pedicab drivers there. Several
more passed by and he stopped them all as he walked
“Tony!”
“Hey, Mistah Williams --“
“Tony, did you see McGarrett today?
About an hour ago?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, as if it was a normal occurrence, and of course, it
was. “Seen him just about where you
were.”
“At the corner?”
“Yeah. Stopped by a big truck.
Talkin’ to some Chinese as I was driving past.”
Williams’ heart raced.
“Chinese? How do you know?”
“Cause he talkin’ in Mandarin. Same lingo da cooks at House of Hong
use. I hang out at dat corner enough to
know. Musta been important. Chinese guy got in da car with McGarrett and
they drove into the tower parking garage.”
“The
“Yeah.”
“Did you see McGarrett or the Chinese man come out?”
“Nah. I been working.”
Dan fished out some bills from his pocket and pressed them into Tony’s
hand. “Mahalo.”
He jumped in the car and radioed his colleagues as he wheeled around and
returned to
A brown LTD sped up, Chin and Duke emerging. He filled them in and ordered them to get a
lab team over. Then he noticed Tony
wheeling up the ramp.
“Just remembered somethin’,” Tony said as he stopped the pedicab next to
the detective. “McGarrett, he was kinda
layin’ his head back. Like
he was restin’.”
Dan stopped him. “Resting? Did he look hurt? Was he still alive?”
Tony looked at him as if he was crazy.
“Guess he was breathin’. Didn’t stop to ask.”
Ignoring the sarcasm, Williams urgently tried to clarify the
information. “What else?”
“The Chinese guy say somethin’ about
“
Tony shrugged. “Don’t know. Didn’t seem like a
local, ya know? Dressed
too flashy. I would know a local
Chinese that loaded. Think they was talking about the mountain, ya know.
“Are you sure?”
Tony shrugged. “Just
a few things I seen and heard as I was ridin’ past, man. He say
“Mahalo.” Dan
shook his hand. “You’ve been a big help,
Tony. I’ll remember this.”
Dan rushed the detectives into his car and they sped off. He radioed for back up, not sure what to
expect. Did the spies want to blow up
the secure government facility in the crater of
As usual when dealing with spies and governments, nothing was as it
appeared. Sensing everyone was on a wild
goose chase, suspecting another sinister angle that no one else had seen before, Dan again wondered where Wo Fat was and what he was
up to lately.
*****
“Mr. McGarrett, what can you tell me about the
last phase of your investigation?”
“What does it matter now? They’re
all --“ his
voice caught on the knot of agony running from his heart into his throat. He simply shook his head in defeat. He couldn’t go
on. Could not say the
words aloud.
Commander Renfield’s voice became more urgent. “The spies could have accomplices still
alive, McGarrett. We need to know
everything you know. Every detail could
help us. What if they have another
bomb?”
He had not considered the alarming danger still hovering above them
all. How could he? There was too much tragedy to take in. Gamely, he tried to concentrate on the case. He focused in on the Palace -- his
center. What was the last memory he had
there? An office filled with people. FBI, Navy, Danno.
The recollection was so real it was like he was
there. Until the
memory phased into white. The
cold concrete against his cheek reminded him he was underground and safe from
the devastated remains of
In his mind’s eye he reviewed the landmarks,
the streets: The Palace, the Capitol,
and the
As the panoramic scenery of beaches and sunsets and rainbows sifted
through his memory, he tried to think about the case, as the commander had
asked. Every time he pushed his thoughts
to those questions, a face, a moment, a conversation slammed into his mind and
tears burned his wrapped eyes.
As he tried to remember catches of investigative clues or case notes --
his recollections snagged on a voice, a snatch of conversation, a word, a look:
Chin and the Kelly family at the Five-0 fishing outing the Chinese
detective had arranged.
Danno coaching the Five-0 little league team to the playoffs. Talking about his dates. Trying to get time off to
go surfing. Trying
to get Steve to play tennis . . . .
Ben Kokua’s daughters and wife, in full hula
regalia, dropping in at the office to show off their trophy from winning a hula
competition.
Duke Lukela and his sons joining him on a day on his restored boat.
Danno interrupting a late-night think session
with Chinese food. Tired jokes and speculations on his latest fling . . . .
All of it was gone now. Every
cherished landmark, every
And Danno .
. . .
All he could see now were not the good memories, not the fun times or
the laughter, but the stress, the demands he had leveled at his
second-in-command during this horrendous case.
The tragedy was closing out the best of his former life and forcing him
to relive the negatives: his demanding authority, his dominance, his insistence
that they had to keep slaving away – keep wearing themselves out.
It had all been for nothing.
His last moments with his closest friend, with his brother, were nothing
more than the shared tension of working colleagues that didn’t
have time to say anything kind. No time
to acknowledge there was meaning beyond the job. He hardly enjoyed not only
his island paradise, but the people that were more important than the trees and beaches and
rainbows. He had never been much of
anything but a workaholic, he glumly assessed.
Now that it was too late, he could not go back and change the
deficiencies of his past. Duty demanded
he let things like friendship and ohana take a back seat to work. Like he was saving the
world. He thought – obviously
misguidedly – that he had been saving society one criminal at a time. In the end, what had it all meant? The sparse recreation or companionable
moments were hardly surfacing now. They were pushed away by the all too common scenes of
investigations. Hardly the legacy he
expected. But,
then, he had not exactly thought he would be known as the man who failed to
save
“Are there any rainbows?” he asked, forcing his mind away from the
hurting personal loss.
“Rainbows?”
At the oddest times the emotions would pile up
and he would start to crumble. Usually
it was silent anguish -- remembering his guys, the
kids at the hospital, the innocent people enjoying vacations in
“Did the fallout -- are there any rainbows?”
“I haven’t noticed,” the Commander admitted with a touch of
surprise. “I’ll check next time I talk
to someone who is topside.”
McGarrett merely nodded, too choked up to respond vocally. No rainbows.
In his mind he tried to go back to what had
happened. He was blocked. His recollections always halted at his
arrival at the
Concentrating, he tried again, backtracking to the traffic jam by Ala
Moana shopping mall. Driving his car
form the Palace. The
last conversation with Danno . . . .
“Tell me about the spy ring?”
The demanding tone irked him. The
Commander had interrupted an unpleasant memory, yes, but it was a cherished
moment with Danno. A prized and
treasured scene he could never live over again.
He could not go back and apologize.
He could not make up for his harsh and abrupt manner by taking his
friend out to dinner, or giving him an extra day off to go surfing. All that was melted
on the spray of nuclear wind and the young Navy officer was ruining the only
comfort he had left. What memories yet
lingered were his only connection to a devastated past. Why couldn’t they
leave him alone in his grief?
“I don’t remember any more.”
Hysterical amnesia, or physical amnesia due to the injuries, the doctor
had told him. It didn’t
matter. Even the danger of future
attacks didn’t jog his memory. All he could think of was the loss he had
suffered, not the mission. He had failed
with the case. What did anything else
matter? Didn’t
they have a myriad of military and civilian people to do their bidding? Why did they persecute a cop stuck under
“That’s not good enough, McGarrett.”
The tone, the phraseology, suddenly set his teeth on edge. He had sensed it before, but now he was
certain. There was something off about
Commander Sinclair. Perhaps his sixth sense was blocking his memory so he would
not confess all to this unseen, but suddenly
suspicious person who tried too hard to be his ally.
“I can’t remember,” he sighed tiredly, but internally alert for every
nuance he could hear or sense. Maybe it
was time to try pushing his boundaries.
He had not been emotionally ready until now, but natural wariness was
bringing back his instincts. “I'd like to talk
to the Governor now.”
“Not yet. I’ll let you
know.” Sinclair stood. “Dr. Renfield will administer a sedative --“
“I don’t need one,” he denied sharply, then feigned a less aggressive
posture, laying back on the bed. “I’m all right.”
“We’ll let the doctor decide.
I’ll send him in directly.”
Renfield left the room with abrupt moves and a slam of the door.
Steve’s mind was already working on unraveling the suddenly sinister
mystery. Where was he? Somewhere damp and cold
and built out of concrete like a bunker.
Why wouldn’t they let him talk to anyone
else? Something was – off -- wrong --
about the officers. What? He didn’t know
specifically, but he knew he no longer believed them.
The trace of a British accent. The refusals, the
interrogations. British phrases and colloquialisms. They were agents from
"Are there any rainbows?"
“I haven’t noticed,” the Commander admitted with a touch of
surprise. “I’ll check next time I talk
to someone who is topside.”
He hadn't noticed? How could he not notice if he never went topside? If he was a prisoner underground just as Steve was a prisoner of his blindness? A captive in the bunker protecting them from deadly radiation. Unless something was wrong . . . .
Feeling the wall in front of him, he covertly used his right hand to
loosen the wrapping around his eyes.
Very slowly he separated tape, then the gauze,
from his skin. Stretching the
coverings, he blinked, startled at the glaring light. For a moment his
nerves twinged.
Had he panicked and inadvertently allowed paranoia to push him to
risking damage to his eyes?
Slowly, he blinked, gradually allowing his eyes to adjust. His heart thumped wildly at the thrill of
returning sight! There was no pain, the
eyes seemed fine, , and he could distinguish dark and
light. Soon his hand came into
focus. Stretching the swath, he could
blurrily see the blanket on the bed and the grey concrete wall at his side.
He almost laughed from the sheer delight. He could see!
Instantly he sobered. He was
captive -- almost helpless -- held by unknown enemies for an unknown
purpose. He would have to be very
careful. And if
they lied about his injures, what else were they deceiving him about? Maybe the Governor was not on another island
at all. Maybe – maybe – please, he prayed
-- his wildest possible desire -- that there had never been a nuclear explosion at all. Let everything outside be normal. Let Danno, and the others, be alive.
His heart raced at the possibility, but he tried not to be wildly
optimistic. Still, the newfound hope would not die. It was better to hope than to accept the
horrible possibility that what the Naval officers had
told him was real.
*****
Grateful that Admiral Heaton and his cronies had not
been invited on this excursion, Dan scanned the flat, dry plain of the
interior of
No Chinese. No McGarrett. No discarded crates that could house a nuclear bomb. Tony might have been wrong had he been
translating Mandarin, but most foreign languages did not have their own version
of American slang or place names.
Diamond Head had been clearly spoken by Steve’s
abductor, Tony was sure.
Did the spies know about the
The volcanic mountain was honeycombed with old
bunkers. On the mauka side they overlooked the ocean.
He had a personal, unpleasant experience with those in the past. A very good place to secretly gather
materials and hide out until it was time to leave the island. Or time to blow it
up.
Ordering the HPD back-up officers to follow, then
racing to his car, he sped from his location across the crater to the
tunnels. On the mauka side
there were access passageways to several old bunkers. At the road leading into the steel access
doors, he stopped, ordering the policemen to blockade
the area. Anyone who tried to come
toward the tunnels was to be arrested.
Taking his rifle with a high-powered scope from the trunk of the car, he
scrambled up the brush-encrusted slope of the volcano and carefully walked
along a dirt footpath. His pace was
anxious and quick, aware that it was late afternoon and all too quickly he would be losing daylight. He couldn’t rush
this, though, because stealth and surprise were his only advantage. If spies were holed up
behind bunker walls, they had chosen an easily defensible position. There might be no way to force his way in,
but maybe he could sneak inside.
If they had Steve as a hostage, he would have to be very careful. The last thing he wanted was to get his
friend killed during a rescue attempt. Or, nearly as bad, end up alerting the terrorists and have
Steve end up as a hostage.
When he came in sight of the first steel entry
he studied the road and, the door through the scope. No sign of tampering. The hinges and locks looked rusted. He jogged away, on to the next target.
At the second, more remote entrance he fell to
his stomach to hide behind the bushes.
Two cars were parked there and the chains were
off the door. Calling back on his
walkie-talkie he gave the license plates numbers and requested officers armed
with rifles to quietly join him.
*****
During his captivity -- that was what Steve thought of this imprisonment
now -- he had noted on some subconscious level the rhythms and patterns of the
personnel around him. He talked his way
out of more medication, and as soon as the doctor left
he lifted the bandages again. If they
stuck to their program, they would leave him alone for a while. Sitting up, he removed the bandages and
looked around his room.
*****
Just as he set down the walkie-talkie, Dan heard the screech of metal
from the bunker. Someone was opening the
door! He ran down the slope at full
tilt, heedless of the consequences. If
he could go in while someone was coming out it would save countless lives by
avoiding a frontal assault. It might
save Steve’s life.
When an Oriental man stepped out he was slammed in the
face by the butt of Dan’s rifle.
Quickly, Dan dragged the body clear of the door and waited. No one shot at him or raised an alarm. Pulling the body behind some bushes he
reached in his pocket for his talkie, then realized he
must have left it in the dirt back on the hill.
No time to waste, he slipped into the dark interior of the passageway
and left the door open.
The warren was sinister and dank and Dan jogged toward the faint
illumination far ahead. Light was
spilling from the open doorway of a room on the right and as he approached he slowed.
Dashing in, seeing it was empty, he took a moment to search the meager
furnishings. It was like a small camp;
supplies, a few newspapers written in Chinese, hand guns. Two plates, two sets of
chopsticks, two cups.
A creak of old metal echoed in the corridor. One kidnapper was outside in the dirt. The other must be coming his way. He flattened against the wall and waited, his
rifle resting on his shoulder, but his index finger touching the trigger. First a black shoe
silently appeared inches into the room.
Then in a blur of motion a man holding a gun
stepped into the room.
“Steve!” he recognized before he had swung his rifle down to aim. With relief, he dropped the weapon to his
side.
Instinctively McGarrett turned, his pistol ready, then
he gasped. His face flushed white with
shock and the gun dropped from his hand.
“Danno,” he hardly whispered.
Expressions of relief and delight that Dan had never seen before on his
friend transformed the surprise into joy.
He grabbed onto Dan and hugged him, shaking, muttering and sobbing.
Frozen, aware they were in a perilous situation, Williams didn’t object
or comment, simply returned the embrace -- with less fervency and desperation
-- and allowed the tremendous emotions to play out. It only took a few moments for McGarrett to
regain normal control, and after patting Dan’s shoulder a few times he stepped
away, self-consciously wiping his face dry with trembling hands.
“Are you all right?” Dan wondered, a little
unnerved and awed. He held onto Steve’s
elbow in support.
McGarrett laughed, patting his shoulder again. “Yeah, Danno. I’m all right now.” He drew him close again. “Just so grateful.”
“There’s another captor wandering around.”
“Not any more.” McGarrett flexed
his right fist. He was without jacket,
tie or shoulder holster, and his arm was covered with
white powder. Obviously
something significant had happened -- beyond the kidnapping. Dan would have to learn more when the time
was right.
“How did you find me?”
“Long story.” He
stared at his friend, wondered what the white stuff was around Steve’s
eyes. There would be a lot for the boss
to tell as well. “You have one too, I
bet.”
“It’ll wait,” he assured, continuing a close scrutiny,
as he had the entire reunion. “It’s just
good to see you.”
Starting to get a glimmer of what might have happened,
Dan told McGarrett he had been missing for over five hours. That surprised him, and urged to continue,
the second-in-command related a little of events on his side of the afternoon. Running feet scraped against the concrete
floor and McGarrett moved away with one more reassuring pat on Dan’s back.
By the time the HPD and Five-0 back-up arrived,
the chief of Five-0 was pretty much his normal, commanding self. He ordered the officers to go retrieve the
man he had knocked unconscious in a cell down the hall. Then he ordered everyone to fan out and
search every room in the warren.
Somewhere in this catacomb of channels was enough plutonium for a
nuclear bomb.
Williams suggested McGarrett take it easy, but the chief was following
the first group of men while, still shouting commands. Dan noted, however, that whenever he strayed
to talk to one of the HPD men, or to check out a room himself, McGarrett was
right there with him, usually hanging onto his arm. Dan didn’t question
the unusual behavior, or the extreme emotionalism he had witnessed at their
initial reunion. He was just glad Steve
was alive.
Far back down another two tunnels Chin came upon the crates containing
the components for the bomb. Assured all
items were there, including the plutonium, McGarrett ordered the officers away
and told Chin to call in the military.
They could dispose of the lethal components.
“We’ve been royally tricked,” Steve revealed as he walked down the dusty
corridor. “These were Red Chinese
agents.”
“Putting up a smoke screen, making us think they were
McGarrett stared at Williams with narrow eyes. “You know?”
“No, I suspected something was up.
And I wondered --“
“Wo Fat,” Steve supplied certainly.
“How did you know?”
“Who else could manipulate and coordinate something on this level? His plan was to blow up
Admiringly, Dan smiled. “How did
you figure all that out?”
They were at the entrance of the bunker and the dying sun cast tawny
shadows across the red volcanic earth.
McGarrett leaned against the steel gate and sighed, taking a moment to
study the barren landscape of the extinct volcano.
“They were going to shoot me up with sodium pentothal. When I overpowered the guy
pretending to be a doctor, I turned the tables and injected him. He had a lot to say about Wo
Fat and their little plot.”
Laughing, Dan shook his head in amazement. “Wow. And I thought we were doing pretty good just to find
you. Alive, I’m happy to say.”
Holding onto Dan’s neck, McGarrett smiled, struggling to keep at bay
stronger emotions grappling to creep out.
“Yeah. Alive. We’re all
lucky.”
*****
“McGarrett!”
The name was a curse! A plague on his house!
Turning from the telex machine, Wo Fat surveyed the bustling
“You should be dead!
There would be a day he would turn the tables. McGarrett would not always win. He would get McGarrett back for all these
thwarted plots and embarrassments. Not today, but some day.
“Next time, McGarrett! Next time!”
*****
The full story did not come out to all those concerned. The crush of activity covered the need for
complete disclosure. The military, the
governor, the State Department ,CIA and FBI all moved in
to have a hand in the capture and interrogation of the spies, and to take the
credit. After officials finally filtered
out of the Five-0 offices, and even the detectives faded home, late that night.
At the end of the grueling ordeal, the Palace took on the quiet persona of
closure and peace.
A few colleagues had congratulated him on the efficiency of ending the
crisis, but most had shrugged off McGarrett and Five-0’s efforts. All in a day’s work. Only the Governor had been particularly
grateful and told Steve it was the most important crime he had ever solved for
the state.
Impossible to argue with the sentiment, McGarrett accepted the praise
and wrapped up the details of the crisis that had consumed his staff for
days. At last, everyone had gone home
and McGarrett remained, rocking in his chair and staring out at the
night-washed grounds of
Complete details had been left out of the
official reports distributed to all concerned agencies and VIPs. Not that he was covering up his embarrassing
abduction, but no one needed to know the effectiveness of the drugs unless they
asked. The spies, of course, confessed
nothing, so his secret was safe with them.
Not that it was a terrible, traitorous move, but he did not want to
admit to so many strangers and colleagues that he had been so effectively hurt.
The spies had convinced him days had passed when it had only been
minutes between visits. They had him
believe his world had been incinerated. Those were emotions he did not want to
revisit, and would not include for generals and NSA analysts to dissect. All they needed to know was the spies had
been captured, the plutonium safely recovered.
A soft knock sounded at the door and Williams stepped in. It almost made him laugh, and cry, that this
was exactly what he had remembered most clearly in his foggy and distorted drug
sessions. The late night, after everyone
else had gone home, and Danno was still here.
Still willing to fight the fight and do whatever needed to be accomplished.
Mostly, he stayed to the bitter end because of
devotion. He was there supporting
McGarrett. And
why did the boss stay after such a horrifying day?
Steve knew he remained only because his residual terrors would not
dissipate easily. Despite his abject
weariness, he could not go home and sleep.
Although in his drugged state he had napped on
and off for the afternoon, it had not alleviated any fatigue.
Turning to Dan, he noted his friend displayed every bit of the tension
and lethargy diversely in keeping with the grueling ordeal of days of crisis living. Yet, typically, Danno remained until
McGarrett was ready to leave. Loyal to a fault. The
thoughts reminded him of the anguish still lingering from the horrible images
he had lived with.
“Ready to go home?”
It was a simple question, but filled Steve with abject repulsion. Go home? He was home.
This was more his haven and refuge than his apartment or his boat. But even he could
not stay here forever. And tonight he did not relish the solitude that he usually
sought after punishing cases. Tonight he
needed to be part of humanity. To relish
the people and places he thought he had lost forever. Maybe he should start by coming clean and
telling one of his important people just how vital Danno was in his life. What if the world had been
destroyed today? Danno would
never really understand what a value he was -- what an anchor in this dangerous
and shifting world.
“No, Danno.” He shook his head,
unable to give up and leave, unable to confess to the demons threatening from
the darkness and solitude of his imagination.
“Not yet.”
Williams stood next to the desk, nervously fingering the corner of a
file folder. As usual, the intuitive
officer sensed the mood -- knew his boss well -- and started to piece together
the clues. Finally he stopped fidgeting, studying McGarrett
with sympathy. “They did a number on
you, didn’t they?”
Unable to voice the truth, Steve nodded.
"I was afraid of that."
McGarrett gestured to the sofa.
“Sit down. I wanted to --“ he sighed deeply.
“I wanted to let you know what happened.”
Aware of the importance of the moment, Williams was soberly compassionate. “You sure you’re ready?”
He didn’t want to let Danno know the depths of his
grief. Danno above all others should not
know the worst of his flaws. There was a
need, however, to overcome the reticent isolation of his nature and connect
with the most important person in his life.
Just hours ago he thought his world devastated and all lost. Now he was here, everything intact. Facing the person he
would have given anything to save. Steve
needed to voice something of that desperate experience. That friend deserved the truth. It
seemed the only way to relieve the pressure of the haunting memories.
”Yeah.”
Starting slowly, pacing, he related when he first awoke in the
bunker. Without looking at his friend,
he explained the cruel proficiency with which the Chinese agents had shattered
his emotions; convinced him that everything and nearly everybody he loved was obliterated. It
had been a very effective torture. As he
related the tale the guilt at succumbing to the
masquerade dissipated.
There had been no possible defense against the plot. Now, there was only one antidote to thinking
everything in his world had been devastated. Embracing and absorbing the blessed reality
of his paradise was the way to dissolve the horrible images of the
psychological torture.
Afterwards he was silent, standing by the lanai doors, looking out at
the quiet night. Dan wiped at his
face. “I’m sorry you had to go through
that, Steve.” His shaky, cracked voice
matched the emotions in his pained expression.
“It’s horrible.”
‘Yeah,” he whispered hoarsely.
“It wasn’t your fault. There was nothing you could have done. You had to accept what they told you.”
“Unfortunately, for a while, I did.”
Tinged with a shade of pride and confidence, Williams almost
smiled. “Then you beat them at their own
game. Incredible how
you figured it out, Steve.”
He found it hard to accept any accolades on his part. For too long he had believed the lies. “It’s over,” he sighed at last. “Thankfully the tragedy never happened.” He leaned on the door jam and stared at his
friend. “And it taught me something I’ve
known all along, but don’t practice much.”
“What?”
“To appreciate everything I love, because it -- they -- might not be
around forever.”
Nodding, Dan agreed that was a valuable lesson. Appreciation was not something they indulged
in enough, he agreed. They became all
too immune to the beauty of paradise.
“So, I’m going to start now.”
“How?”
”I’m going down to
Dan’s brows scrunched together in perplexity. “That’s one of the hottest nightclubs in
town.”
“Yeah. Nice
tables right on the beach.”
“Loud music. Lots of tourists. The
kind of place you avoid.”
“That’s just the place I feel like visiting. Where I can appreciate things I love.” He walked over and held out his hand. A little surprised at the uncharacteristic
gesture, Dan shook hands. Steve pulled
him up and put his arm around his shoulder.
“Thank you for coming after me.”
“I didn’t do a lot of good. You’d
already rescued yourself.”
“You were there for me, Danno.
You always are.” His voice
shook. “When I thought everything was I
cared about was destroyed --“
He couldn’t go on. Could
not voice the terrible anguish that he had thought his closest friend was
dead. Danno had been the one he missed
most. The one he was happiest to
see. He shook his head, unable to say
more. “Mahalo.”
Dan patted his arm, his face and tone revealed he understood
completely. “Everything’s okay now.”
“Yeah.”
Steve took in a deep breath, ready to put the horrors behind him. “Let’s go.
Beachcomber.
My treat.”
Transforming into amusement, Dan grinned, the previous fatigue easing a
little. “Great. Beachcomber it is.” He opened the door. “Good to have you back, Steve.”
Shrugging into his coat, McGarrett paused for a moment and put an arm
around Dan’s shoulders. “It’s great to
be back. More than you’ll ever know.”