The Play’s the Thing
By
BH & gm
“All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages."
-- William Shakespeare, As You Like It
February
1976
The
trunk of the black Ford LTD seemed to lift off the ground as the vehicle slid
to an abrupt halt and rocked for a few moments before it settled to rest. A
cloud of dust caught up and gently drifted past the windows as the driver and
his passenger silently recovered from the emergency stop. The seconds of
silence were finally broken by the taut-jawed man still clutching the wheel.
“You
all right, Danno?” Steve McGarrett did a quick visual survey of the smaller
man, who, with his hand gripping the dash board, was slack-jawed in surprise.
“Yeah!”
McGarrett growled and slapped the wheel.
The
passenger collected the mic of the police radio, and with a slight shake of his
head, issued a command. “Dispatch – Williams – Please roll a unit to the corner
of Liliha and Ehako. We’ve got a truck, which has lost its load in the
intersection.”
A
few years ago, the second-in-command of
It
was the driver’s turn to shake his head and sigh as Dan popped his seat belt
off and opened the car door. Leaning on the top of the door, the detective did
not bother to take his left leg from the frame of the vehicle before he headed
off the visual query of the throng of onlookers spilling towards him. “We’re
not hurt! A police unit is on the way!”
The
dismayed driver of the ill-fortuned conveyance let out a monster-sized breath
of relief as he turned to study the condition of the rickety pickup, which had
spontaneously released most of its load of two-by-fours into the street almost
on top of the vehicle of the head of Five-0. Had it not been for McGarrett’s
quick reflexes, many of the wood planks would’ve crashed onto the hood and
perhaps through the windshield.
Dan
re-secured himself into the vehicle barely before McGarrett turned the key in
the ignition and, with his head directed backward, slammed his car into
reverse. He backed up enough to circumvent the road block, and gingerly
navigated through the human traffic to continue their journey.
As
the excess adrenalin relinquished its hold on his nervous system, the Five-0
chief settled back into a more routine driving posture, and cast a glance
towards his protégé, who sat silently looking out the passenger window. Their
years of association led them to be comfortable in silence, but McGarrett
sensed Williams’ tense melancholy.
“Chin
up, Danno – we’ve got eyes everywhere looking for him. It won’t be long.”
The
younger detective sighed and nodded slightly in acquiescence. “Yeah, I know.
It’s just that he trusted me to keep him safe. If anything happens to him…” His
voice trailed off.
“The
court order gives us a stay until tomorrow morning.”
“And
then, that low life Whitman can go to press with his story – no matter how many
witnesses to murders he exposes.”
Five-0
had been working for months to uncover sufficient evidence to indict a
prominent
It
had taken weeks of back-and-forth with the older man, who was a recovering
alcoholic, but finally, the day before, Ray Padilla decided that he trusted Dan
enough to tell his story. The “invisible” janitor had actually overheard
Sanders issuing instructions to two other employees to silence his accountant,
who had apparently been prepared to go to the police with evidence of
wrongdoing within the company. Numerous facts backed up Padilla’s assertions.
Of particular interest was the fact that the accountant in question had not
shown up for work two weeks earlier and had not been seen since. Knowing his
life was in danger, the unassuming man extracted Williams’ most sincere
assurance that his life would be protected.
It
was early on this morning though that McGarrett received a phone call from
free-lance reporter Kenneth Whitman, requesting verification that Ray Padilla
had stepped forward to finger his employer in a murder. Steve, not generally
inclined to respond to “fishing trips” by less-than-scrupulous journalists like
Whitman, knew that the release of a story naming an informant would not only
jeopardize the case but the life of their only witness. The head of Five-0
implored the reporter to hold off on selling the story with the promise that he
would be proffered the facts as soon as charges were filed and the witness was
safe in protective custody. Whitman, fearing that he would be scooped, declined
the offer and, armed with the confirmation of his facts, let McGarrett know the
story would be sold to the highest bidder – probably a local television station
– within a few hours. Steve knew there had been no way around confirming
Whitman’s information, but still cursed himself for hoping he would find a
nugget of morality in the reporter. The Five-0 chief moved quickly to get a
court order preventing local news agencies from releasing the story, but he
knew they needed to get their witness off the streets sooner rather than later.
It
was with near-panic that Dan reported Padilla had not shown up for work that day.
With the APB issued, all the detectives could do was wait for the janitor to be
found – alive -- they fervently hoped. The two officers were now heading back
from Padilla’s small flat toward the
McGarrett
empathized with his second’s troubled frame of mind, but was at a loss as to
what else he could say that would reduce his friend’s anxiety about the peril
in which their reluctant witness was unwittingly heading. So he did what any
real guy – cop or otherwise – would do – he changed the subject. “Chin got a
lead on the arsons in
Duke
Lukela had been struck on the head and knocked unconscious during a stake-out
the previous week. {episode – LOVE THY NEIGHBOR, TAKE
HIS WIFE} The detective had been hospitalized overnight for observation
and allowed to return to administrative duty in the Five-0 office. Now, all
that stood between Duke and a return to field duty was Doctor Bergman’s
signature, which the recalcitrant physician refused to give without the benefit
of a full physical.
Williams
nodded absentmindedly and opened his mouth to acknowledge, but the radio, which
had been quietly offering an intermittent stream of banter between units in the
field and the dispatcher, suddenly interrupted.
“Five-Oh-Two-Dispatch.”
Dan
collected the mic, and, following the voice’s lead, copied with a by-the-book
response. “Dispatch – Five-Oh-Two.”
The
air of official-ness didn’t last long. “Danny—I
got an emergency patch for you from some VIP at the airport.”
Williams
shared a perplexed grimace with his boss. “A VIP? Who is it and why do they
need to talk to ME?”
“The party has identified herself as the Duchess of Sonderbar.”
McGarrett
felt more than he saw his friend jolt backward slightly. The driver took his
eyes from the road for as long as dared to study Dan, whose eyes narrowed
slightly – the name obviously meant something to the detective.
With
a faint smile, Five-0’s second-in-command responded. “Patch the duchess through,
Joe.” The radio clicked with static for a couple seconds before an elderly
female voice could be heard.
“Helllooo! Is anyone there? Can you read me?”
A sigh
preceded Williams’ response. “This is Detective Williams…YOUR GRACE!” .
“Danny! Thank Heaven I’ve reached you – that horrible
woman in your office – what was her name? Wretched? She would not put a patch
on you! I told her how important it was that I reach you, but she…”
“Wretched?”
McGarrett breathed.
Dan
nodded and explained quietly as the thin, but energetic voice rattled on.
“Gretchen – the temp, who’s helping Jenny with the archiving project.”
“…but never mind that, dear… I must speak with you before
I board my flight!”
Williams’
brow furled. “Aunt Clara, where are you?”
“I’m at the airport – didn’t the young man tell you?”
“WHICH
airport?”
“
Surprise
colored Dan in both expression and voice. “Right now? What are you doing at the
airport? Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?”
“Danny, I’ll explain when you get here now hurry my
plane departs in an hour!”
“Aunt
Clara – I – I can’t make it right now – I’m in the middle of… of work!”
“You’re always in the middle of work, young man.” The voice took on a teary tone, but the tenor turned
angry as the tempo picked up. “You were
in the middle of work last Thanksgiving when you cancelled your trip to visit
me. You were in the middle of work
when you cancelled on me again at Christmas. Danny Williams you turn your siren
on and get to this airport THIS instant over and out!”
The
two detectives sat in silence for several seconds, both staring at the road
before them. It was McGarrett who recovered first. Clutching the wheel with
both hands, he slowly took a sideways look at his passenger, who sat in
apparent paralysis with the mic still positioned inches from his mouth. It was
clear that the accusing, motherly salvos had been effective. The Five-0 chief
cleared his throat before he casually inquired, “The Duchess of what?”
Dan
did not move a muscle as he replied evenly. “Sonderbar …”
Williams
sat quietly for several more seconds before he volunteered an explanation. “When
I was sent to live with her not too long after Pop was killed, I her and her
friends of being weirdoes. Later – when I came back home and moved in with the
Kulanis – I started getting birthday cards and gifts from the Duchess of
Sonderbar.” He gave a short laugh. “It took awhile, but one day I learned that sonderbar
is German for weird.”
After
catching the smirk on his boss’s face, Dan felt the urge to make an admission.
“Okay, I wasn't the happiest kid on earth over being uprooted. Snatched from
the beach and dropped into the heart of Manhattan - with Pop fresh in the
grave, the culture shock was a lot to handle. Aunt Clara and the bizarre
theatre people that roamed in and out of her place…” He paused to look out the
window, and continued only after he took a minute to organize the plethora of
memories he hadn’t pondered in years – if ever. “In retrospect, I can see that
they all treated me like gold, but I wasn’t very... receptive. I hadn’t had
much contact with her at all before then – Pop disapproved of her lifestyle and
didn’t want me exposed to it. I guess his opinions carried a lot of weight in
my mind.”
“As
well they should’ve, my friend,” McGarrett offered.
"Aunt
Clara is a wonderful, smart, funny woman. Just – unusual.”
The
driver checked the lane before he turned right and maneuvered into the flow of
traffic. A few moments of confusion clouded Dan’s expression – they’d just
turned the wrong way if they were going to the Palace. Awareness of their new
destination struck him in short order as they passed the first airport
information sign. The obligation to attend his aunt had been a quandary he had
not needed to broach with his friend. Dan’s lip turned into a crooked smile as
he stared at the driver.
Feeling
the expression of gratitude, McGarrett kept his eyes on the road. “The last
thing I need is for my second-in-command to spend the rest of the day wallowing
in guilt – for ANY reason!”
The
message was loud and clear to Dan – his mentor did not want him feeling culpable
over the situation with the missing informant. Too much self-reproach was
unproductive – Steve had spent years trying to drill this into his head. The
lesson was working, but not as quickly as the impatient chief of the state
police unit would have it.
“Mahalo,
Steve,” Williams intoned quietly as he replaced the mic onto its dash hook and
settled back into his seat, visibly more relaxed than he’d been for the better
part of the day.
Their first
stop was the main terminal of Honolulu Airport where Dan trotted over to the
most famous stop for kamaaina -- Auntie Dora's Lei Stand – and picked out a
full, beautiful white and purple orchid lei. "Tradition," he
explained. Then they drove to a sub terminal and parked the car.
Along with a small number of passengers
awaiting charter flights, there was a TV news crew from Channel Four. Several
recognizable reporters from the Advertiser, and other obvious media types that
the Five-0 chief had ID’d from the local press pool as representing papers from
Malaysia, Hong Kong and Australia clogged the area. Wondering what media event
had brought out the hounds, he scanned the area and was surprised when he had
his answer.
At the end of the private charter
lounge, McGarrett spotted – amidst a sea of floral shirts – a bun of white
hair, which gave the petite woman away before they reached the small group of
passengers. Belying their numbers, the group's voices could be heard through
much of the concourse. Certainly an eccentric gathering, he assessed as they
drew closer. Curving around to get a clearer view, he saw Clara Williams
standing next to a distinguished man - probably in his early seventies -- with
white, wavy hair. Both were being questioned and photographed by Oriental
reporters he did not recognize. A tall, thin man probably about seventy years
old, wearing -- no -- modeling -- a red
and blue Hawaiian print shirt was attracting a lot of attention, too. Periodically,
he would run a hand through his longish, brown hair, accented with thick
sideburns. The group was completed by two men and woman about the same age as
Clara, who were being interviewed in front of a TV camera.
Dismay colored Williams' expression as
he stopped in his tracks. "Ah, nuts - she's got the entire circus with
her."
“What is all this?” McGarrett wondered,
his face twisted slightly into a bemused stare. “Your aunt’s troupe is famous?”
Dan hesitated before he agreed. “I
guess they have a degree of… of notoriety – fame in some circles. Infamy is
more like it. They travel all over the globe doing Shakespeare, dramatic
readings, and whatever else strikes their eccentric fancies. They must be
starting a new tour.”
McGarrett mused, “I would say that some
degree of fame is a bit of an understatement, Danno. There are TV stations
here.”
The younger detective gave a soft
harrumph, and it was instantly apparent to Steve that his friend was distracted
by the scene taking place before the television cameras and radio microphones.
Williams gazed in his aunt’s direction with mild embarrassment. "Always in
the spotlight. Never off stage."
Trying to hide the mirth from his
expression, if not his tone, the boss gave his friend a comradely nudge with
his shoulder. "Let's go visit with the Duchess."
When Dan showed no sign of moving
forward, McGarrett prompted. “You don’t want that expensive orchid lei to go to
waste, do you?”
Shaking his head almost imperceptibly,
Williams reluctantly led the way as they meandered through the crowd, but
stopped short and touched the taller man's arm. “Steve -- just -- try not to be
too shocked no matter what they do. The one next to Aunt Clara is Devon Swain,
and the one in the shirt that you’re probably appreciating is Jeremy Darcy. I
don’t know his… his -- uh – companion.”
Highly amused at this quick prep, McGarrett
bit his lip, nodding.
"The studious one is Sam Price –
he's been friends with Aunt Clara ever since I can remember."
"I've met him," Steve was
surprised to admit.
Dan was amazed. "Where?"
"He's attended several Pearl
Harbor Anniversary ceremonies. He was on one of the ships in the harbor that
day."
With a sigh and nod, Williams admitted
that he had heard that at some point in the past. "Yeah, he's a nice guy,
but he'll never let you forget his exploits. If you mention an old black and
white TV show that he used to star in he'll be your friend for life. It was
filmed here in
Williams halted behind the Asian
reporters. “We can just wait till they leave,” he whispered.
They were close enough to have
attracted the attention of Mrs. Williams and her snowy-haired companion. The
elderly lady’s face brightened and she gave an enthusiastic wave. “Danny! Oh,
Danny! It’s so good to see you! It’s my nephew, Danny Williams, my
nephew!" Clara called loud enough for the whole world to notice, it
seemed.
“So much for subtlety,” the shorter
detective sighed as many of the reporters, and their cameras, turned in his
direction. He took a breath. "Okay, ready... or not."
"Danno, they’re old people not
armed combatants."
"They may be old, but trust me
they’re armed."
McGarrett laughed at the amusing
comment. "Danno, there's not much that surprises me anymore."
Snorting, Dan shook his head. "I
hope you remember that when Jeremy makes a pass at you." Another deep
breath. "And I'm apologizing ahead of time for -- anything -- they might
say or do."
Gulping down a chortle McGarrett
followed his reluctant colleague to the knot of dramatic players. “Okay,I’m forewarned
and I forgive you!” Steve whispered in his friend’s ear.
Devon Swain, in a checkered sports
jacket and red ascot, jumped up with enthusiasm and stepped towards the
detectives just behind Clara. "Danny, dear boy!"
“Danny, darling! I’ve missed you so!”
Clara beamed as she embraced her nephew.
“Aunt Clara,” Williams murmured as he
finally allowed a genuine smile to brush across his features.
With the gaggle of press, cameras
clicking and the TV lens close at hand, Williams fulfilled their tradition by
placing the lei around her neck and kissing her aloha. Like the true showman
she was, not missing any opportunity, the cagey old woman turned them both
toward the cameras.
“My nephew, Danny, is the
second-in-command of
She gave them a fractional moment for
their own flash of fame. McGarrett was stoically silent, not revealing his
bemusement at being cornered so adroitly. Danno seemed less forgiving, but the
signs of frustrated annoyance in the tight smile were detectable only to him,
he suspected.
Then Clara continued her cleverly
designed photo op. “The Manhattan Players will be touring for the next two
months, starting with our ground-breaking Hands Across the Pacific opening in
“Danny! You’ve been holding out on us –
you never mentioned you were Clara Williams’ nephew!” A reporter Dan recognized
as a writer for one of the society pages injected quickly as the elderly
actress was ending the audience.
Dan's response was preempted by Clara,
who chirped, “I’m sure my nephew has more important things to discuss when he
talks to reporters! Now please, I would like a few minutes alone with Danny
before my plane leaves!”
With the petite woman’s beseech / command,
the crowds loosened enough for the two Williams and McGarrett to slip from the
circle. Clara steered them to the back of the lounge to afford them a little
privacy while the press cleared the area.
Before other comments could be uttered,
Aunt Clara embraced him with a fierce hug and held it for a time, her head
buried in his chest. "How very good to see you!” she breathed.
A little embarrassed, Dan finally
pulled her away. For a fleeting moment, as she looked up into her nephew's
eyes, he thought he glimpsed a darker emotion – a raw poignant sadness on her
face. Then instantly it was gone, brushed clear with a stroke of theatrical
cheer. "You're looking so well,” she beamed and touched his cheek before
turning her attention to the head of Five-0 offering her hand. "And Steve,
what a delight to see you again."
Cordially grasping the delicate hand,
he replied," A pleasure to see you again."
The rest of the troupe gathered into a
circle and Clara made the introductions all around. Devon Swain was introduced
as an old friend from London. So was Jeremy Darcy, who, when shaking Steve's
hand, gripped it with both hands and held it for an uncomfortably long time,
smiling and staring at him with intense interest.
His British accent was cultured and
elegant, as if he should be living in a castle overlooking the Thames. "A
great pleasure to meet you, Steve," Darcy cooed, winking. "This is my
friend Ian St. John," he gestured effeminately to his companion.
Trained in passive expression and
voice, McGarrett knew he never showed the inner flinch he felt, and his eyes
traveled smoothly to the next person. Sam Price greeted him warmly and they
exchanged a few cordial words about how nice it was to meet again. The English
accented Alice Stanton, Clara’s old friend from New York, was introduced last.
General comments of the weather and the
beautiful paradise of Hawaii passed the next few minutes. Jeremy moved close to
McGarrett and asked what it was like being a policeman and carrying a gun. Dan
rolled his eyes and looked like he was going to intervene, but was diverted by
Clara and a tag-along Swain.
"We were just going to visit the
pub,"
"These are the states," Ian
corrected with a disdainful huff, glaring at McGarrett. "The wild west. I
don't think they believe in tea."
"He can be such a snob,"
Jeremy excused, leaning close enough for Steve to pick up the heavy scent of
his cologne. "This is the tropics, dear Ian. Haw-why-ee.” He pinched
McGarrett’s sleeve. “Do join me for a drink."
"I don't drink," McGarrett
replied crisply and pivoted to step behind the actor.
"Devon, go ahead. I want to visit
with my nephew," Clara announced to one and all, in a dramatic voice
designed to reach the back seats in any respectable theater. Numerous heads
around the concourse turned and noted the scene. "I so rarely have a
chance to see him, you know. He lives in this paradise and I am so far away.
Come along, Danny.” She shuffled over and took Steve by the arm and looped her
other hand in Dan's. "Go ahead, have some drinks."
The slight, elderly woman steered them
to a grouping of seats in the corner. "Let's have a little privacy, shall
we?" she asked, and before either man could answer she continued, "
Williams stopped in his tracks.
"Propose?"
She looked at him and smiled -- a
slight cherubic twist at the sides of her mouth. "Danny, didn't I tell you
he divorced his last wife? Sherry, do you remember her? Maybe you never met.
She was only Mrs. Swain for two years.” Clara took a seat and patted the chairs
to the left so both detectives sat where she could see them easily, Danny next
to her.
"Aunt Clara, why didn't you tell
me you were coming?"
"Didn't I tell you about this
Asian tour? I must be getting old! Yes, we're doing a Shakespeare revival --
but I don't want to bore you. How have you been?"
"Fine, everything's fine," he
insisted.
In truth, Williams was still reeling
from the series of mental flip flops he'd been doing in the last hour. The extreme
stress over his missing informant, the startling call from Clara, and then her
demand for his appearance at the airport. Now, the surging memories -- many
unpleasant and guilt-ridden -- about the brief time he spent with Clara and her
friends in New York. Added to that was the culpability she had reawakened in
him -- all the missed holidays and years between them.
"Well, you work too hard." She
stared at him for a well-timed dramatic pause to allow the accusation to sink
in. "It's past time you were married, Danny. Are you dating anyone?"
"Aunt Clara," the younger
Williams began to object with unsurprised exasperation, but his response was
cut short.
"Danny, you're not getting any
younger. Don't let life pass you by, and the same goes for you, Steve."
The Five-0 chief's eye brows raised in
only mild surprise at being a co-target of the motherly advice, Dan noted. The
lecture was a familiar one and the younger man sighed, striving for neutrality
and politeness when he did not feel it. Clara loved to give him counsel and he
was dismayed that she felt the privilege extended to Steve. A sense of urgency
was pressing on his nerves about his informant, and he realized he was fidgeting,
strained about work – the obsession Aunt Clara warned against in this
embarrassing conversation.
"I don’t have a lot of time before
the flight," she said, echoing his thoughts, "so let me just mention
that if anything ever happens to me, my lawyer has everything in order –“
“Aunt Clara!”
“Now, it’s good for you to know these
things, Danny, especially with all the traveling I do.”
“Okay, we’ve discussed it now can we
stop? Let’s talk about your tour.”
The spry little woman pushed her chin
out at her nephew in consternation. “If it’s one thing this family is bad
about, it’s sharing information!”
Lack of communication was a bane to the
Williams clan. Some rift dating back to the second world war prevented Dan from
having a close relationship with Clara until he was in college. His own last
wishes and legal arrangements – necessary to his dangerous profession – were
set in order with Steve as his executor. A fact he had never mentioned to his
only relative. Okay, so she was right about his workaholic tendencies and the
close-to-the-vest habits of their history. That didn’t mean it was any easier
to hear.
“Aunt Clara, THIS family is YOU and ME
– that’s it – there’s nobody else!”
“Well, there’s not much I can do about
it at my age, dear. Which brings me back to the issue of your dating—”
“Clara!” Dan nearly shouted in
exasperation.
“Don’t raise your voice to me, young
man, I’m old,” Her voice took on a frailty Steve suspected she could turn on
and off like a faucet.
“You’re only old when it suits you,
Duchess!” Dan retorted, but he lowered his voice in compliance.
She leaned toward the detective holding
her hand, and dismissed the subject with a slight twitch of her head. “Please,
dear, my time is limited. I’m trying to correct a family… shortcoming … while
there’s still time.”
Dan blinked at her explanation.
“Correct a— while there’s still time – what does that mean?”
“It means…” Clara hesitated as she
studied her nephew’s questioning and obviously frustrated expression.
From the corner of his eye, McGarrett
noticed Jeremy, Devon and Ian wandering back in their direction. He observed
that Clara also caught the impending interruption, and her face flinched slightly
with annoyance. A rare, unguarded moment for the thespian.
Finally, she completed her thought. “It
means that I need for you to know that I love you.”
The spontaneous conciliatory tone of
the petite woman, her keen eyes boring into him, made Dan regret that he’d done
anything but agree with his only relation during this interview. With a sigh,
he lowered his voice. “I love you too.”
“My attorney is Mister Franklin Royce –
you met him once, dear, when you were just a youngster—”
Williams quickly brought his hand up
and gingerly covered the elder Williams’ mouth. “Can we talk about something
that does not have anything to do with dating or death?”
From the first meeting with Clara, and
her little undercover gig for Five-0 {episode --
RETIRE IN SUNNY HAWAII - FOREVER}, Steve had been aware of Dan’s
protective and concerned attitude about his only living relative. Despite his
discomfort with her friends and mild embarrassment at her eccentric lifestyle,
he loved his elderly relation very much. Her prying was generally excused
because of his deep affection and respect for her.
Apparently undaunted by her nephew’s
insistence on a subject change, she quickly reached up and squeezed the hand
Dan had placed over her lips. Then she slipped her other hand into the pocket
of her sweater. She gripped something in her fist and pressed it into Dan’s,
holding both of his together in hers for a moment.
“Danny, here’s a little something I’ve
been meaning to give to you. A locket. It's a family heirloom.”
Steve never saw the item but was
touched at the sentiment. Perhaps in her advancing years, lonely for her nephew
despite her obvious fame and collection of friends, she was missing out on
precious time with Danno.
Devon Swain swept into the little
gathering as if he were entering Stage Left. Clara rose, Dan and Steve with
her. Jeremy stood next to McGarrett, right next to him, touching elbows.
Glancing out the window, the head of Five-0 noted luggage being loaded onto a
small jet and realized their time was up.
“I’m sorry to abbreviate this moment,
but the steward has just announced that our plane is ready, my dear,” Devon
declared as he placed Clara’s hand in the crook of his arm.
McGarrett took the lead and said his
general farewells to the group, then turned to Mrs. Williams. “Clara, I hope
you have a very successful tour. Perhaps we’ll see you again on the trip back?”
Her fixed smile faltered
infinitesimally, but she recovered almost instantly. The eyes barely flickered
from a guarded, even pained flash. “That would be very nice.” Taking Dan by the
arm, she guided him with her to the door that would lead her and her companions
out to the tarmac.
The rest of the troupe crowded around
them and Dan stopped at the door to give Clara a last hug and kiss. She held
him for a moment and it seemed she was trembling.
“If something happens to me, don’t
forget that locket, Danny.” With a kiss on his cheek, she gave him another last
hug, then quickly turned and scurried out the door, Swain hurrying to catch up
to her.
Dan stood in the doorway for a moment
before joining his boss and walking through the concourse to the exit. He
pondered her atypical sentimentality and the undercurrent of… something. All
that uncomfortable talk about misfortune happening to her was unsettling. She
didn’t seem afraid of flying, and generally did not appear nervous. Still, it
was an odd conversation. And what was all that about the locket? Fingering the
jewelry in his pocket, he shook his head, puzzled over the whole scene.
“Why do I feel guilty?” he quietly
asked the question without expecting an answer.
Steve offered, “I’ll give you some time
off after this Sanders thing is over, Danno. Maybe you can catch up with Clara
on her way back from the Orient.”
McGarrett
released an almost imperceptible sigh of relief as he scanned the document in
his hand. “Okay, Duke, it looks like Doc agrees with you.”
With
a rare, broad grin, Lukela set the file he’d been holding on his boss’s desk.
“I knew he would, Steve!”
“I
knew he would too. Duke’s head is harder than a coconut,” Chin Ho Kelly chimed
in as he pushed the door open and strode towards his colleagues.
The
head of Five-0 tossed the medical release onto the blotter. “Duke, that means
you’re back on the arson investigation with Chin!” To have all of his men
available for field duty was one less headache.
Jenny
joined the detectives, but it was not in celebration of the officer’s return. McGarrett
could see from her expression that she had business on her mind. “Steve,
there’s an emergency call from
Instantly
suspicious given the recent encounter with Williams’ cagey aunt, Steve’s eyes
narrowed. “It’s not a woman is it?”
“It’s
Harry Kikiaola – the airport manager! There’s been a plane crash!”
The
gravity of the news stunned McGarrett only momentarily before he turned and
pushed the speaker button so that his detectives could hear the breaking news.
“Harry, what’s this now?”
“Steve, a commercial aircraft went down. It plunged
right into Mamala Bay right after take off. No survivors as far as we can tell.”
“My
God,” the Five-0 chief closed his eyes, already pondering the enormous loss of
life which invariably accompanied a catastrophe of this nature. “Coast Guard on
the case?”
“Yes. As you know, the FAA will have jurisdiction in
the investigation, and since the craft came down in the water, the Coast Guard
is overseeing recovery operations. I’m required to notify you because the craft
went down inside the
“How
many people were on board?”
“It was a charter. Archer Airways flight ten-tten
bound for Hong Kong – twenty six people were on the manifest.”
“
Duke
and Chin exchanged surprised and dismayed glances and then traded them with
Jenny. Their boss knew people who’d been on the unfortunate craft. Silently,
they each took a step closer to McGarrett’s position as they listened to the
airport manager confirm Steve’s fear.
“How did you know that, Steve?”
“My
God…” Steve slipped around the edge of his desk and slowly lowered himself into
his chair. “I watched the passengers board… Danno’s Aunt Clara was on that
flight.” With the recollection of the petite, cheerful woman vivid in his
mind’s eye, he had to clear his throat to swallow the emotion he felt as the
explanation hit the air.
A
rustling of papers shuffled through the speaker phone for a few seconds before
Kikiaola’s voice returned with horrific news. “Hmmm…Williams… Williams… Clara Williams – yes -- I’m sorry to report
that her name is on the passenger list. My God, Stev, please pass along my
deepest sympathies to Danny.”
“Thank
you, Harry. Please let me know if I can do anything to help.”
Without
bothering to allow his eyes to guide his hand to the speaker button, he fumbled
for a few seconds before the connection was closed. Only the sound of a
teletype machine in the outer office broke the silence for several seconds as
each person who’d been within earshot tried to grasp the repercussions of such
tragic news. When McGarrett could finally bring his focus upward to the faces
of his detectives and secretary, he found their own devastated expressions
almost too much to bear. His eyes moistened as he appreciated that they were
each mentally moving toward the moment when Five-0’s second-in-command stepped
through the door.
“Where
is he?” Steve whispered as he brought a finger to his face for a quick pass at
the corner of his eye.
Jenny,
whose hands had both been clamped tightly over her mouth, tearfully responded.
“He was in the file room last time I noticed… oh, dear… Heaven.” The petite
figure shook her head slowly as one tear chased another down her cheek.
None
of Williams’ Five-0 ohana knew Aunt Clara very well. Her brief
vacation-turned-undercover-gig to the islands earlier that year had afforded
them the pleasure and unique experience of meeting the feisty little woman,
from whom Dan occasionally took phone calls. It was apparent from the
long-suffering tolerance in his voice that the detective loved his elderly,
eccentric relation, but drawing information from him about her was nearly
impossible. Until they’d met her, the most promising theory on the topic was
that Clara Williams was a boring little old lady, who wanted to regale her busy
nephew with tales of the digestive woes of her friends and neighbors. It was
with no small amount of mirth – and commensurate teasing of Williams – that
they witnessed for themselves in short order that Aunt Clara was a funny,
quick-on-her-feet actress, with a streak of mischief and inquisitiveness in her
soul. With the boring hypothesis shot, the more accurate supposition – that Dan
was mildly embarrassed by his talkative, eccentric aunt – came into play. They
all knew it was true the day Duke laughingly accused Five-0’s second-in-command
of fearing what Aunt Clara would say. The truth was visible in Williams’
expression for only a moment, but the astute detectives surrounding him had
spotted it.
Caught
up in the emotion of the moment, everyone in the room jumped slightly as Dan’s
voice sounded from the doorway. “Nothing yet. Maybe I should take a spin back
to Paddy’s apartment.”
With
no sign yet of Williams’ imperiled informant, the sandy-haired detective was
growing more agitated by the minute. When they’d returned from the airport,
Steve had put his second onto other tasks in the hope of keeping him distracted
until HPD could pick up Ray Padilla. It was obvious the ploy wasn’t working as
Dan slipped with preoccupied attention to the IN box on his boss’s desk and
dropped a paper into it.
The
dread of preparing to break the immutable bad news to his friend filled
McGarrett with nausea. There could be no delay though; news of the crash was
probably already hitting the radio and television airwaves. Five-0’s
second-in-command had been incommunicado in the file room, and for that, Steve
was grateful. This kind of tragic bulletin was best gently delivered in the
company of ohana.
“Danno…”
The lead detective’s voice cracked slightly, a fact which immediately caught
Williams’ attention.
Steve’s
expression did not mask the distress the man obviously felt at that moment. Dan
did a quick survey of the faces of his associates and was met uniformly with
airs of grief.
“Sit
down please.” McGarrett intoned.
With
apprehension, Williams slowly turned his attention back on his boss, but he did
not take a seat. “I hate conversations that start like this.”
Glancing
away from Williams for only a moment, he addressed the others with a request
that they be left alone.
Tense,
the younger man corrected the request, saying the others didn’t have to leave
for his benefit.
McGarrett
wondered if Danno hoped the bad news would be mitigated by a group presence,
but knew with a twist in his heart that there was nothing that could cushion
this blow.
The
man seated at his desk flinched slightly in frustration. There was just no easy
way to tell someone that a loved one had just been killed. Standing, he came
around the desk and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. He swallowed and
met his protégé’s concerned eyes. “There’s been an accident – a plane crash…”
He had to stop speaking, his throat tight with despair, silently praying that
his astute second would grasp what he was trying to impart without the need for
more information, but it was not to be.
Dan
reacted as would most hearing of such a loss of life. His brow furled as he
lightly pushed for more information. “A plane crash? Where?”
“It
crashed into
Taking
in the sad news, Williams absentmindedly acknowledged his boss. “Yeah – the reg
states that Five-0 has to be notified of any incident on Hawaiian soil, whether
a result of criminal mischief, human error, mechanical failure, or natural
disaster, to include all bodies of water inside the state line, resulting in
the simultaneous deaths of five or more persons.”
McGarrett
was surprised for only a moment. Of course Danno knew that – Five-0’s
second-in-command was the regulations specialist in the office – the one upon
whom Steve depended to guide him through the morass of mundane details when
dealing with the Feds or diplomatic issues. Williams’ talent for remembering –
and being able to quote chapter and verse of the driest documents -- had
prevented the head of Five-0 from missteps on numerous occasions.
Dan
returned to the issue at hand, having not divined the most searing fact of all.
“How many people were on board?”
It
was all McGarrett could do to maintain eye contact with his friend. “Danno… it
was Clara’s plane.” The words hung in the air alone with nothing to cushion
their impact.
For
a few seconds Dan stood there as the news branded into his memory for all time.
Confusion clouded his face. “Aunt Clara?”
McGarrett's
heart was breaking for his detective, but he could think of no comfort to offer
except for that of his physical presence. “I’m so sorry, my friend.” Steve
looked away for a moment to avoid the desperate searching in Dan’s expression –
it was clear to McGarrett that his second-in-command was silently appealing to
him to clarify the news – add something that would make it bearable. With
dejection, the lead detective could not offer a word of balm. Eye to eye, he
unsteadily whispered, “There were no survivors.”
Williams’
shoulders slumped slightly as he let the desk catch him dropping
unceremoniously to its surface. “No… a mistake… there’s been a mistake – we
just saw her… it’s not possible…” His face flushed as he looked down onto the
nearby desk blotter.
The
ringing of the main phone line interrupted the silence, but nobody moved. The
moment was too fragile for the Five-0 ohana to be touched by outside voices. It
was Dan though who collected the phone with a shaking hand. To deny routine was
to accept the horror.
“Five-0.”
His voice was trembled slightly, but he pressed on. “This is… Williams.” The
detective listened at first with disinterest, but slowly the identity of the
caller penetrated the fog of shock surrounding the officer. He stood. “Paddy… where
are you? You’re in danger!”
McGarrett
knew the name – Paddy was Raymond Padilla. The Five-0 chief watched his second
struggle with the gut-wrenching emotion which had to be tearing at his insides.
The determined fight to focus on the living was etched in his furled brow.
“I
won’t let him hurt you, Paddy, but you’ve gotta tell me where you are… yeah…
yes… I—I’ll come get you myself… I promise…” Dan ignored an errant tear rolling
down his face as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line.
Finally, he swallowed a sob. “Stay there… out of sight… I’m on my way.” He
roughly dropped the phone handset back onto its cradle and turned away from the
desk. “Need to get Paddy.”
“Danno!”
In a single stride, McGarrett reached Williams, but barely touched his arm
before the distraught detective shied away and nearly ran for the door.
“I’ve
gotta hurry!”
Steve
took a few hesitant steps towards the door as Jenny and the other detectives
moved to his side. Slipping his arm around the secretary as she pulled out a
handkerchief and wiped her nose, McGarrett did not let his gaze falter from the
point where he last saw his second-in-command. With nothing else to be done for
the moment, each visually relayed their sorrow to the others before drifting
out of the Five-0 chief’s office.
Rushing,
trotting, through the Palace, gratefully Williams encountered no one. He broke
into a run when he reached the outside steps. The tears cascading down his face
drenched his cheeks, and yet he hardly noted it as he dashed the last few steps
to his car. Fumbling with the door, he dropped his keys on the pavement and
realized it was because he was shaking with such force. Quickly slipping into
the car he dropped the keys again as the grief turned to heartbreaking sobs
that shook him to the marrow. Scrambling for his keys again, this time he
managed to get the car started and backed out as he fought to contain the
wracking sobs. At the King Street gate he stopped, wiping his face and catching
his breath to overcome the physical manifestations of misery that he could not
hold back. Long moments were lost as he fought to control the emotions erupting
like uncontrollable, molten lava. It was a battle of mind over matter and the
fractured mental force took quite a time to conquer the shattered heart.
Another
few deep breaths and he thought he was ready to roll, taking a minute to
remember that he was picking up Paddy. From
-- yeah, from – come on, Williams, focus! Ala Moana Mall at Pattie’s
Kitchen. The mall – a clever spot for a snitch on the run – who would think to
look for him at the busy lunch spot.
I can’t do this! He wanted to scream, and hit his head against the steering wheel,
trembling and crying for a few moments before he was under control again.
Focus!
Wiping
his face again, he pulled out into the lane, doubting the wisdom of driving a
car in this condition. Thinking back to when Steve had tried to comfort him, stop
him, he knew at the Palace he had friends waiting to support him. It would be
such a balm to stay there. But this duty was not something he could pawn off
onto someone else. He had given Paddy his word. Added to that reasoning was the
selfish perspective that he could not take the sadness, the empathy that was
waiting to swallow him with his ohana. As good as that seemed on a level where
he desperately wanted someone to take away the pain, he knew that was not
possible. And wallowing within the safety of friends also meant they would see
him suffering, and he could not take that.
Whipping
across several lanes he switched to another street and cut off another car
before admonishing himself to keep his mind on driving. Impossible. Clara dead...
No, he couldn’t accept it. Just not possible. He had talked with her just hours
ago…
The
memory of being together brought more tears and a few more sobs as he recollected
his rush to get away. The distracting concerns for Paddy; his embarrassment
over the troupe of actors… How could he have been so rude and cruel to her!
Gulping
down the weepy, crushing knot in his throat, he determined again to get control
of his emotions. He was a wreck – and he would cause a wreck if he weren’t
careful.
On
Deductive
reasoning clicked in and he wondered over her words and actions. She was not
edgy or nervous as if she had some kind of premonition. No, she wanted to talk
about her will, though, he recalled, his heart plummeting and tears threatening
again. Yet, she acted – as if – she – she was up to something?
A
horn behind him honked and he was startled to see he was sitting in the left
turn lane at the mall and the signal was green. Unaware of driving the distance
already, he turned into the parking lot and examined the train of thought he
had just caught.
Clara
had been acting strangely… cagey and cryptic . . . as if trying to impart some
important message with the abrupt comments on wills and instructions. Perhaps she’d
had some crazy scheme going…
Cruising
for a parking space, he pondered that meeting. Now viewed not from a
perspective of grief, not from poignant sweetness, or even guilt, but from the
angle of a suspicious detective, who knew the suspect well. What had she been
trying to tell him? It was suddenly clear that the final meeting with his dear
aunt was saturated with hidden messages!
Finding
a parking slot, he hurried to the excellent cafeteria-styled Chinese restaurant
favored by locals and tourists alike. Moving through the usual heavy crowd at
the open-air mall, he kept his eye out for any threat to Paddy, but found it disconcertingly
difficult to stay on track. There was a little, gray-haired old lady with a
shopping bag slung over her arm. The sight stabbed him like a dart that her
features reminded him of Clara – no -- he couldn’t think like that!
The
smell of the sweet and sour pineapple chicken, the barbeque pork, the roasted
ducks hanging in the window, assaulted him first before he turned the corner
and stepped into the eatery. Weaving through the ever-present crowd, he checked
the tables, then the line, then back to the tables in the corners… Yes, there was Paddy, dressed in his
janitorial overalls, a soda partially covering his face as if he was trying to
hide behind the paper cup.
Making
eye contact with him was the average-looking short, thin man, with slicked-back,
gray-peppered brown hair and a sharp, angled nose. He fired nervous glances
around them. By the time Dan made it to the table, Paddy was turned away from
him.
“You
wasn’t followed?”
“No,”
the officer denied automatically.
Then
he realized what a fatal mistake he could have just made! He had no idea if he
was followed or not! Knowing both their lives were at risk because of his
inattention and carelessness, he sat down next to the little man and took a
moment to scan the restaurant. No sign of any of Paddy’s enemies.
“What’s
wrong then?”
“What
do you mean?”
“You’re
all red and upset.”
Williams
self-consciously wiped his face. “It’s nothing.”
“You
seem –“
“I
said it’s nothing!”
“Fine,”
he responded warily. “No reason anyone would know you was coming for me,
right?”
“Right.”
Taking a breath, he mentally stepped away from the taut emotions roiling within,
and managed to concentrate on his current mission. “Come on, let’s get out of
here.”
Paddy
agreed, taking a last snatch a some sauce covered noodle on an otherwise empty
food carton.
The
guy was relying on his word, his talent as an officer, to preserve his life and
Dan was sobered by the trust and faith. A lance of hurt flashed inside, knowing
Clara had entrusted him with what she felt were important final words—
No!
Stop! He had to stop thinking like that!
Glancing
around the packed eatery one more time, through watery eyes, he gave a nod. “Just
stay close. The car isn’t far away.”
The
short guy became his shadow as they moved through the lunch room and onto the
sidewalk. Staying close to the buildings, Williams waited until the last minute
to go into the open and cross the parking lot. Still no sign of a threat. They
walked quickly to the LTD and dashed inside. Revving the engine, he popped it
into reverse, and then drove off with a slamming force equal to Steve’s abrupt
driving skills.
On
“Too
bad about that plane crash, huh? Tragic.”
Dan
cleared his throat and tried to speak, but only managed a grunt of
acknowledgement, afraid he could not control the sobs again if he had to voice
anything about the catastrophe. Another near fender-bender startled him to keep
his mind on driving. Traffic was a little thick, as it was every day around
noon. Honolulu streets were filling with people on their way to lunch, and
tourists our for a day of fun and sun. Another beautiful day in paradise…
Clara
had looked particularly nice in the orchid lei he bought her. Orchids were her
favorite tropical flower. Good thing he remembered at the last minute. Had he
been curt or inattentive to her? He had asked about her tour, but in his heart
knew it was just small talk to keep her distracted so she and her strange
friends would not make too bad of an impression on McGarrett, he miserably
admitted.
“Where
ya gonna take me?” Paddy broke into his thoughts.
“I
– uh – thought---” He hadn’t thought at all, he realized guiltily, knowing his
mind was almost entirely focused on Clara. Why couldn’t he do anything right
today? At the airport all he could think about was Paddy! Now, protecting the
informant, all he could do was wallow in memories and regrets with Clara! He
continually forgot the little informant was here with him. “A – uh – safe house.”
“A
nice one? On the beach?”
“Sure,”
he agreed.
His
last moments with Clara at the airport kept replaying in his thoughts. Everyone
in the troupe seemed their usual crazy selves. Clara talked about the legal
stuff – and Devon! Yes! His hand struck the steering wheel as the epiphany hit
him. She was afraid
“What?”
Paddy shouted.
“Huh?
Oh, sorry -- just -- I had the most incredible thought.”
She’s
not dead, he realized! She did not get on the plane with the others! Steve and
he had not actually SEEN her get on the plane! She ditched the troupe so she
could avoid Devon! And – and what? Surely she would have contacted him! But
then she heard about the plane crash? Yeah, and then she hung around the
airport to find out what happened to her friends? Yes!
Was
this a delusional dream concocted by a dazed, grief-stricken mind which was
desperately grasping at straws? Was this the result of a nephew riddled with
guilt over his inattentiveness?
No.
Yes. Well, maybe, but it was possible! And it made perfect sense to him. As a
detective, he had seen people pull a fast one for one reason or another. No one
would have found them out except for bad luck or a strange coincidence. Poor
Clara. In the theater timing is everything, and this time she chose her timing
brilliantly. She would be mourning her friends, yes, but she was alive!
“Hey,
uh, Williams, whatcha doing?”
“Huh?”
He glanced at the janitor. “What?”
“I
thought we was going to the beach! Why we going to the airport?”
Startled,
he looked at the freeway sign ahead that directed lanes to departures or
arrivals for the airport. The traffic was heavy and he realized the normal flow
would be slowed because of the big investigation.
“There’s
all this stuff going on with the crash –“
“I
have something to do here.”
“You’re
supposed to be protecting me!” he snapped back nervously.
“I
am. You’re with me,” Williams firmly told him. “Can you think of a better
place?”
The
query made the man think for several moments as Dan swerved around some safety
cones and drove into the back of the airport where the administrative offices
were housed. Showing his ID to the guard, he rolled slowly past, did not even
have to stop. It was a day when any law enforcement or Federal agent would be
swept through with no questions, he grimly understood.
Paddy,
in his cotton janitor’s overalls, became Williams’ gray shadow. They coursed
through the maze of onlookers and airport types, and what Williams took to be
the first wave of press sniffing out details of the tragedy. A few of them
looked like the reporters that were here earlier covering the Manhattan Players’
departure. Tragically, they had a new, grimmer story to report, one that
trumped the cultural tour.
The
janitor followed the detective into the manager’s office, where Dan impatiently
waited for a word with Harry Kikiaola. Not surprisingly, there were many
demands on the manager’s attention today, and Williams used the time to check
over the passenger manifest from the downed plane. It was a moment when his
heart caught in his throat and tears burned his eyes when he read his aunt’s
name right there in incontrovertible black and white. But she was not dead, he
told himself as he blinked away the tears.
Overhearing
the investigative measures from people in a nearby conference room, he knew the
FAA, HPD and Coast Guard were already on scene. The chief FAA investigator for
the Hawaii/Pacific region, Mick Windsor, was out with the Coast Guard
inspecting the crash site first hand. Windsor was a friend of Chin’s, and Dan
knew the case was in good hands. He could check with Mick later, but now he
needed answers from Kikiaola.
Several
official-looking men in suits exited, and he spotted Harry walking into his
office. Without invitation, Dan entered, Paddy close on his heels, before
anyone could stop him.
Looking
disheveled and unimaginably stressed, the manager had a coffee cup in one hand
and a cigarette in the other. Staring at a navigational chart of the bay, he
squinted through the smoke curling around his face. Noting someone new entering
the room, he glanced up. It took him a moment to register the appearance of
Five-0 – which he did with a nod – then his face screwed up in sympathy.
That
all-too-recognizable reaction from a casual business acquaintance almost
floored Dan. His brave armor of denial nearly shattered with that one glance,
but he recovered quickly.
“Hey,
Danny, I talked to Steve. Really sorry about your aunt –“
“Your
aunt was on the plane?” Paddy gasped.
“Uh,
yeah, I mean, no - she wasn't,” he distractedly shot at the informant.
“Danny,
this area is restricted –“
“He’s
with me,” he explained to the manager, then said, “Harry, it’s possible that my
aunt was not on the plane.”
Inhaling
a puff of smoke, he coughed, withdrew the cigarette that had nearly dropped
from his lips, and narrowed his eyes. “I gotta stop these coffin sticks,” he
muttered to himself. Mashing the butt into an ashtray he gave total attention
to the officer. “What makes you say that? She’s on the manifest. I checked –“
“Yeah,
it’s hard to explain, Harry, but she could be here at the airport. I’m going to
give a description of her to the security office. First I wanted to check with
you and make sure it was really her plane that went down and who else might be
aboard. I saw the manifest already. Is there anything else you can tell me? I
guess she hasn’t checked in with anyone that you know of… has she?”
Slowly
eyeing him with a wary stare the whole time, Kikiaola just shook his head.
“Okay,
I’ll have security –“
“You
know, Danny, security has a lot going on today –“
“I
know, but they won’t be able to miss her. How’s the search going?”
The
manager’s face was readably somber. “You can guess.”
Grimly,
Dan sighed. “Yeah.”
He
knew the waters here well. No need to articulate that the relatively shallow
depth of the bay would be of little help to recovery teams. IF anyone survived
the crash – didn’t Steve already tell him the official stance was there were no
survivors? He couldn’t be sure – that moment of horror in Steve’s office was
kind of a blur right now. There were also other realities to face. The initial
impact from a jet hitting the water would almost certainly negate anyone coming
out alive. IF anyone could have managed to free themselves of the seatbelt/
fuselage/ water, they would then have to contend with strong currents, injuries, fuel and oil-fed flames, and the
schools of hungry sharks circling for an attack on the alive-or-dead victims.
Gulping
down another knot of emotion, he stubbornly maintained his faith that Clara had
exited the charter before it took off. “What can you tell me about the flight?”
Reluctantly,
Harry told him that Archer Airways was chartered by the Manhattan Players for a
flight from NYC to LA (an over-night layover) to
Emotions
threatening to overwhelm him, Dan nodded, feeling unexpected mourning for
Clara’s band of eccentric friends. He had not appreciated them in life, but
knew his aunt would miss them terribly. The bottom line for the detective
though was that Clara WAS alive! He had to believe that.
“Mahalo,
Harry. I’m going to run over to security now.”
“Listen,
Dan, let me do that. You’ve got enough on your mind—”
“YOU
have a lot on your mind,” Dan countered soberly. “It’s okay. She could be
waiting for me right now. I’ll just run down there. Mahalo.”
The
trip to the security office was fast and only Williams’ badge got them through
the heavy knot of officers, HPD men, airport reps and media types, the
collection of which was starting to congregate enough to make a nuisance. Pulling
his collar up around his face, Paddy slinked behind Williams, who told officers
the little janitor was with him, and they were able to slip into the main
security room and away from the crowds.
To
his disappointment, Clara was not there. Dan gave the chief a run down on his
theory that Clara was not on the plane and she might be hanging around waiting
for news of her friends. Dan and Paddy were escorted down an inner hall in the
back corridors of the airport, to a VIP lounge set up for family and friends of
the victims. There was no one there. Faltering, but not deterred, Dan asked the
personnel to search the airport – lounges, coffee shops, gift stores --
anywhere she might be. Then he interviewed the security and airline staff at
the gate of the doomed flight. Many of them had already been interviewed by FAA
and airport officers. They were mostly still available and Dan was able to talk
with several of the airline employees.
During
the exchanges, Paddy unobtrusively served coffee and donuts and remained a
fixture at Williams’ elbow. Distractedly, Dan also noticed Paddy eventually
started branching out. Apparently confident he was safe, the janitor fell into
character and wiped up tables, threw away trash and fetched snacks for the
overworked, over-stressed support personnel Dan was interviewing.
To Dan’s
dismay, several people remembered Clara clearly boasting about him. They
recalled the theatrical bunch boarding the plane. No one remembered the tiny
woman leaving the gate, the tarmac, or the jet after it was boarded.
Realizing
he was meeting all these people – even Paddy – under the worst possible
circumstances, Dan felt his presence here on an interrogational level might not
be helping anyone, including himself.
Maybe
Clara caught a cab and went to his place? No, she had no key. And if she had
shown up at the Palace – the only other place she would know to gravitate
toward to find him – Jenny would have called. He thought perhaps she had gone somewhere
else. Where? To find out the fate of her friends, of course! She was not going
to be focused on him now – not his obsessive work hours nor his dating, nor
Steve’s similar deficiencies – she was going to be worried for her zany,
eclectic cronies.
Interrupting
Paddy from making fresh coffee, he told the informant they were leaving. Complying
with a nod, the man tagged along as they coursed through the airport, careful
to avoid any of the media. Paddy had lost his nervous aura and was chatting
about the unfortunate circumstances of the crash – how it affected so many
people and was so sad. Careful to keep the comments generalized and not too
specific about Aunt Clara, Dan realized his odd tag-along was now more absorbed
in this great tragedy than in his own personal danger. It urged Dan’s
motivation to a stronger level of commitment to keep the guy safe.
“Where
we going now, Danny?”
“The
Coast Guard station.” His enterprising aunt might go right to the top for
information.
“Your
aunt not one to stay quietly in the background, huh?”
Dan
smirked, feeling better explaining a little bit about his aunt. Too energetic
and exuberant about life to have died in a useless and sudden accident. “No,
never.”
“Background,
that’s me. Never set out to be noticed. Who notices a janitor? That’s how I got
in this mess in the first place. Not like you. Must take after your aunt.”
“Not
exactly,” he almost laughed, poignantly saddened about that now.
There
had never been much contact between the Hawaiian Williams’ and the East Coat
branch of the small family. Not with Dan and his Uncle Jim, anyway. Clara had
been close to Dan’s mother and father, but during the war there was an
estrangement after his parents died. Uncle Jim never talked about it and after
his death, when Dan had been transplanted to stay with Clara, she did not
discuss the rift either. He should spend more time learning about his family. The
thought that it could be too late – that Clara had really gone down with the
plane – was pushed far away from his consciousness. He could not accept that.
The
Coast Guard station at Barber’s Point was packed with all manner of official
and unofficial vehicles. Again, Dan’s credentials got him through the gate and
again, his cryptic verbal okay that Paddy was with him (even while crouching
down in the seat to avoid notice by the lurking media) seemed a good enough
voucher.
Checking
in at the main building, Williams kept Paddy in the background as he searched
for Aunt Clara. Always with an eye on the informant, Dan moved to various
officials asking after his elderly relative. No one had seen Clara out here and
they assured no civilian would be in this area. In a moment of panic, he
realized Paddy was gone. Frantically scanning the building, he was alarmed that
the guy was outside washing the windshield of the LTD!
“What
are you doing?” he half shouted when he raced out.
“My
thing,” the informant shrugged. “What I’m best at. Just didn’t want to stand
around idle while you were busy.”
“Well,
mahalo, Paddy. I couldn’t find anything out. Let’s go.”
They
cruised down to the dock where the knot of activity was thickest. Recognizing a
few familiar faces of Coast Guard personnel, he was gratified to see the one
who was clearly in charge was someone with whom he already had a working
relationship.
Standing
on the deck of a small cutter, FAA inspector Mick Windsor directed sailors with
off-loading material. When Dan rounded the walkway, he stopped cold, gulping
down a shivering sob. The men were lifting pieces of wreckage off the boat. Trembling,
getting a grip and wiping his face clear of an errant tear, he tightened his
fists until his fingernails dug into the palms.
He
was going to get through this. Clara had not gone down on that plane! For a few
moments he wrestled with control, hardening his resolve that his aunt did not
die today, utterly denying that possibility. With another breath and he forced
himself forward to confront this grim reality and prove this tragedy would not
be too personal for him.
Removing
his traditional panama hat, his straw-colored hair was so thin that it gave him the initial appearance of baldness. Taking
off one of his work gloves, wiping perspiration from his face,
Holding
out a hand for his usual friendly and firm handshake, the Federal investigator
cleared his throat. “Danny, I didn’t expect you here,” Mick called, meeting him
half way. “I’m really sorry—”
“Look,
Mick, I don’t think my aunt was on the plane.”
This
startled the taller man into silence. His piercing green eyes studied Dan for a
moment. “She’s on the manifest,” was his correct, even reply. Characteristically
by the book. “Harry and I double checked.”
So,
the airport manager had called ahead to warn/prepare Mick. Instead of bristling
at the interference, Williams took it as friendly cooperation. They were
watching out for him.
Tragedy
like this affected everyone in
“I
know it doesn’t sound logical, but I was there at the airport with her before
she boarded.”
The
green eyes darkened and grew watery and Dan looked away, over the azure, and
silver glittering ocean, shivering when he realized he could see the cluster of
boats out in the bay conducting rescue operations. Coast Guard, Navy, HPD were
all participating in the event. Helicopters from various organizations circled
the area. Gulping down the grief that again threatened to spill out, Dan shook
his head, determined to stick to his guns here.
“Something
– I’m not exactly certain what – was going on with her, and it’s possible she
did not get on the flight.”
He
looked back and saw the expression was still sympathetic. “I can’t let you out
on the site, Danny, I’m sorry.”
“Five-0
has a right to be out there –“
“And
you’re an officer who just lost –“
“I
don’t think she’s dead!” Williams snapped back fervently.
He
was at a loss to justify his need to be at the site since he thought Clara was
still alive. His initial thoughts were that she was back at the airport. But
she was not. What had brought him here? A morbid need to see if there were any
bodies recovered? No, he realized, insight slamming into his grief-muffled mind.
The meeting at the airport – it had been off – wrong – in ways he could not
define or understand. At the time, he had offered a lot of excuses and
near-at-hand clichés to deal with Clara’s weird friends. Now that he needed a
reason, he knew where his core doubts and rejections were coming from. Not
clairvoyant, Clara had not been apprehensive about the flight. Maybe she had
not ditched
Then
why go out to the plane? Because some of the answers to his questions might be
out there.
“And
if you don’t let me out there I’ll use other available means.”
Pushed
into a corner, this tough investigator pushed back. “I’m warning you, this is a
bad idea, Danny. Besides, this cutter isn’t going back out till we unload
everything.”
“Right.”
Stalking
back to the car, where Paddy was now cleaning the dash, Williams collected the
informant and they zipped over to a less congested dock area where auxiliary
resources were standing by. One of those was an HPD boat. Dan gave a wave to
the officers on deck and asked when they were headed out to the crash site. They
were ready to go, he was pleased to hear, and Paddy and he boarded.
McGarrett
was in and out of the office most of the day, but listened to the police radio
for updates on the crash. When in the office, Jenny would come in on pretexts
until she finally stopped to question when he was going to contact Williams.
The
tragedy was never out of his mind, and Steve ached for his friend and grieved
himself for the spirited, charming aunt who had been taken away so suddenly. Several
times he picked up the mic to hail his second-in-command, and each time he
replaced it, aware that Danno had chosen to work out his initial grief on his
own. Paddy was in fear for his life, yes, and needed to be protected, but someone
else could have gone.
McGarrett
knew it was wrong to let it go this long, but his own need for solitude to
handle the tragedy won out over his warring desire to reach out and offer
whatever comfort he could to his friend. Having been in this place before -- of
watching his friend suffer -- as well as the mourning Danno was going through
-- he recognized the value in balancing interference with keeping a distance.
By
the afternoon, though, he determined he would call Danno in no matter what so
the officer could take some time off and grieve. After that preliminary
bereavement, there would be practical things to take care of – such as
notifying friends – (that was something his Five-0 ohana could handle under
Dan’s direction). There would be the myriad legal necessities of the will. Then
the disagreeable, tedious tasks of taking care of the belongings, the house on
the mainland, any pets…
The
intercom buzzed and he responded. Jenny announced Harry Kikiaola on the phone. Gearing himself for a request for Five-0’s
official entry into the tragedy, he answered. The airport manager took him
completely off guard by his opening statement.
“Hey, Steve, just wanted to
let you know Danny was down here and he wasn‘t doing too well.”
“Danno was there?”
“Yeah, he’s pretty shaken about his aunt, but he’s
not buying that she’s dead.”
The
statement was a rude shock. Right here in the office, Danno could not grasp the
reality of the sudden tragedy, but Steve had imagined that phase of the
mourning would have passed enough to not admit it to others. Showing his grief
so openly was just not like Danno, and that worried him even more. Understandably,
his first reaction was denial. He had even commented that they had just seen
her that morning – yeah -- Danno was having trouble accepting the loss. That he
went out to the airport and was so obvious about it was disturbing.
After
Harry related the visit from Williams, Steve’s day-long anxiety grew to
distress. Knowing his hot-headed, stubborn, impulsive friend, he knew what
Danno was capable of during emotional extremes. Steve suddenly feared that his
second-in-command could be a danger to himself more than anything else.
It
was time to relieve his friend of duty to grieve. Steve asked Harry if he knew
Danno’s whereabouts.
“I know where he was a while ago. Mick
Windsor said he was out at Barber’s Point wanting to get out to the crash site.
Mick wouldn’t let him.”
“Thanks,
Harry.”
McGarrett
hung up and instantly flipped on the HPD mic to get a call out for Danno on the
radio. No response. Knowing his friend as well as he did, he knew there would
be no way to dissuade Williams from carrying through with something he really
wanted.
Rushing
out the door, he yelled to Jenny that he would be out at the crash site. Barber’s
Point was too far away, he decided and came to a skidding halt. “Order me a
chopper at the Ala Wai pad,” he told the secretary, then jogged out the door.
Grief,
disturbance for Danno’s well-being, remembered heartache from the past crowded
for attention in Steve’s wounded heart. As the chopper lifted off from the
helipad, the startling beauty of the moment transcended all other thoughts. Fleetingly
he was suspended by the tearing polarization of everyday life against the pall
of recent, sudden death.
Rocketing
across the bay, they swept over brilliant white-hulled yachts and small boats. The
alabaster sand of Waikiki, the blue water on either side of the reef, the
incredible spectacle of the Hilton Hawaiian rainbow mosaic sparkling against
the afternoon sun were all eye catching and dazzling. The multicolored swim
suits, the elegant surfers gliding on the curls, the hotel catamaran whisking
over the silver-shimmering sea – all bright and wonderful. Another perfect day
in paradise.
How
could tragedy strike in such tropical splendor? Hard to accept life going on as
usual for so many people on this rock, but it inevitably did. Hardly anyone
outside of his office would be personally affected by the crash, since the crew
and passengers were from
In
the car, driving over to the pad, McGarrett had radioed and ascertained
Williams was aboard the Coast Guard base-of-operations ship. Instead of
contacting him there, McGarrett waited for a face-to-face.
Admitting
he was not always tactful in his emotional moments, he was determined to put
forth an extra effort to be gentle and patient in what he feared would have to
be a confrontation with his friend. Danno was obviously hurting -- Steve knew
this was tearing him up inside. His mission would NOT be to get to his friend
and force Danno to go home. Rather, Steve was going to take him home and – gently
but firmly INSISTED – he took some time off. The philosophy violated Steve’s
personal mandate-cure-all that work was the answer to dealing with stress,
grief… It was just not appropriate now.
After
the drop off, he realized the wind was up and the ship pitched against the
strong waves. McGarrett’s hair blew across his face and he brushed it back as
he hurried across the rolling deck. Skin warmed by the Hawaiian sun and kissed
by the salty air, the nearness of raw nature exhilarated the senses.
Commander
Rix met McGarrett on the stern and stepped forward just in front of Williams –and
Paddy -- whom Steve was surprised to see. Giving a handshake to the Commander, the
Five-0 chief zeroed in on Dan.
His
friend looked as expected – stressed, worn, his face reflecting plaintive grief
-- his eyes red from recent emotional purges. The chagrined expression on
Williams’ face told him the younger officer knew exactly why his boss had come
out here.
“Just
bringing Danny up to speed, Steve,” the Commander reported. He outlined that
much of the wreck had been submerged and would take a few days to retrieve. No
bodies were discovered, nor were any personal belongings or luggage, but given
the currents this far out from shore, and the multitude of sharks in the area,
divers hinted that finding whole bodies was problematic.
At
this stark and hard-hitting reality, McGarrett kept his eyes on Williams. Danno
flinched, but other than that did not react to the common knowledge – facts a
proficient surfer would know without a second thought.
“This
is Five-0’s jurisdiction, but I don’t know anything practical you fellows can
do out here. FAA is going to cover the investigation.”
Looking
at his boss, Williams took a deep breath and countered, “There is information
that we are now viewing as suspicious.”
McGarrett
remained silent, but his eyebrows shot up at the announcement. He knew that
tone, that expression of determination on his friend. Danno was completely
serious and totally unaware of how absurd the statement sounded.
Rix
was shocked. “What information?”
Steve
quickly debated if he should let Danno continue or get him off the boat right
then. Suddenly curious, the Five-0 chief hesitated. Danno was sounding normal
and level despite how he looked. Did his friend really have something?
“One
of the passengers,” Williams continued, staring at McGarrett. “She exhibited –
unusual behavior. Five-0 needs to check it out.”
“Are
we talking sabotage?” Rix wondered.
“No,”
Steve countered.
“I
don’t know,” Dan quickly shot back.
“What
are you saying?” Rix voiced, now alarmed. “What passenger?”
“Clara
Williams,” Dan responded, now looking squarely at the Commander.
“Williams?”
he was shocked. “A relative?”
“His
aunt,” McGarrett supplied a little sharply. “And we’re not going to take this
any further until we have proof.”
“Steve
–“
“Will
you excuse us please?” he asked and without waiting for a response grabbed
Dan’s arm and stepped him over to the side of the deck. His hold on his friend
was not released, but tightened. Remembering his self-promise for tact and
patience, Steve took a breath before he plunged into the verbal fray and what
was sure to be an emotional rollercoaster for both of them. “Danno, I know
you’re hurting –”
“Steve,
I’m serious. There was something going on with Aunt Clara. She was trying to
tell me something,” he desperately interrupted. “I don’t think she got on that
plane.”
Groaning,
staring at his friend, whose defiant expression did not bode well, Steve shook
his head. “All right, Danno, she was acting strange. But will you please just
step back and look at what is going on? I know it’s hard,” he admitted, his
voice cracking along with his heart.
Did
his friend really need for him to spell it out? Why was he making it so tough? Because
sorrow played out in so many myriad and varying ways – individual for each
person experiencing the heartache, the loss, the disbelief, the emptiness, the
abrupt change in everything connected with the deceased.
“Steve,
she’s not dead.” His voice was trembling, the culmination of the terrible day,
but Williams’ eyes were clear and bright with conviction. He was not pleading,
but asking, his friend for support and help. This was how Danno had to play it
for right now.
How
else could McGarrett respond? He counted Danno as his closest friend. He had
pledged carte blanche support in anything the grieving officer might need. Wasn’t
this the cry for help he had been waiting for? The confused denial/
desperation/hurt that had surfaced in an unexpected, but not completely
illogical way? Danno was a cop and was reacting like a wounded cop. McGarrett
had to play this out with the most kind and compassionate spin he could manage.
In other circumstances, his temper and impatience would have prevailed. But for
Danno, he could do anything. Even this.
His
fist squeezed the arm in his hold, and then patted the shoulder. “All right, my
friend, you know you’re asking a lot.”
“I
know, Steve,” he admitted with the ghost of a grin. “But just hear me out,
please.”
Putting
his arm around the shorter detective, McGarrett led them back toward the others.
“Let’s get back to the office and sort it all out then.”
Steve
announced they were leaving and would notify Commander Rix of any results of
the investigation. Of course, all information would be processed through a
joint task force of Coast Guard, Five-0, HPD and FAA. Steering his
still-under-hand officer to the chopper, Steve did not question the tagalong of
Paddy. They boarded the craft and took off, McGarrett pondering how he was
going to handle the next phase of his conversation with his friend.
The trip from the helipad to the Palace was
traversed in silence. Steve did not want to talk in the car. This conversation
needed to be face to face where he could devote his entire attention to Williams.
Much of his journey was wrapped around possible angles of his opening
statement; gentle phrases he was not used to using, reasonable yet sincere
persuasions which would bring Danno out of this funk of denial. Something
clever, yet real that would break through his emotions to accept the loss,
start grieving properly, and move on with life.
Apparently the silent Danno also felt this
time should be used for reflection or building his case. Either way, Steve
welcomed the meditative opportunity to prepare for the upcoming storm. All he
knew, from the moment he had heard about Dan’s exploits, was that he had to do
something after it was so sadly obvious to everyone that Dan was in complete
denial of Clara’s death. Inventing theories to explain how she could have
miraculously survived the crash was rejection in the extreme. Friends and ohana
treated him with sad respect and then appropriately left it alone. As it should
be; this was a family matter and Steve would handle it in private, not wanting
the world to see his friend so openly distraught and irrational.
The best course of action was to take him
back to the Palace, listen to Dan, and then try to manage to convince him to go
home. When did he ever become a counselor, he wondered bleakly? Knowing this
would not be a requirement under normal circumstances and certainly not with
anyone else, not even the ohana at the office. Steve remembered the moments in
his life when death had struck – family,
friends – and those feelings still stung him today as he recalled exact moments
right down to the details of where he had been standing, who delivered the bad
news, what he was wearing, what kind of day or night it had been.
This was now the care and handling of his
closest friend and he had to get this right. The words he said, the actions he
took would not only help Danno through the maze of wicked, razor-blade
emotions, but scenes he would probably remember for the rest of his life.
Stepping into the office became a
tableau-event – a stage-set drama -- in and of itself. Jenny rose from her
desk, Duke and Chin came out of their cubicles. The other two secretaries and
one HPD man just stared at Williams, who Steve noted, immediately seemed to
shrink under the obvious, glaring inspection of pity.
“Danny,” Chin simply nodded, chewing on his
unlit pipe stem.
“You okay, bruddah?” Duke asked quietly and
offered an encouraging nod to show his support.
“Oh, Danny.” Jenny was already crying. “We’re
so sorry about your aunt. She was so sweet.”
Typically, Jenny stepped over and gave him
a big hug. Steve watched with a twisted stomach as Dan’s eyes closed, his face
crinkled fighting off the emotions that struck with the overt display of sympathy.
When the blue eyes opened they were staring at him in watery hurt. Knowing this
was the first of probably several rescues required of him, Steve placed a resolute
hold on Jenny and held onto Dan’s arm until the hug was completed.
Firmly pulling Williams along with him,
Steve was surprised when Dan stopped him.
“I’m okay,” Williams told him, then the
rest of the office.
“You’re so brave,” Jenny whispered and
gripped his hand, unable to stop the mothering.
“No, I’m fine,” he refuted, looked at each
of them.
“We can handle things here, Danny,” Chin
told him, his comforting, fatherly nature springing to the forefront.
Duke placed a supportive hand on his
shoulder. “We’re here for you. Whatever you need.”
“You should go home and rest,” Jenny
ordered, glaring at Steve as if this was his fault. “You need to mourn properly
–“
“No, no, it’s fine, Jenny. I’ll be okay. Clara’s
not dead.”
Steve flinched and his heart wrenched anew
when he saw the sympathetic stares of the others. Duke and Chin glanced at him
and he knew it was time to get Danno away. He swept the others with an ‘I’ll-handle-this’ eye as he tugged Williams, and pulled him into the private
office and shut the door.
Paddy moved to follow along, but Duke
stepped in front of him, neatly pushing him into his own cubicle. “Hey,
bruddah, why don’t you just wait out here.” It was an order.
“Danny needs to have some room,” Chin told
him.
The HPD officer standing by the secretary’s
desk leaned over to study Paddy. “Hey, isn’t he the guy you have an APB out
on?”
Kelly and Lukela exchanged looks.
“That’s right,” Chin almost smiled.
“Guess we can cancel that now,” Duke
nodded.
The officer went about his business and
Paddy glanced around the room. “So, who does your cleaning around here? Ya like
‘em?”
For a few seconds, Steve regretted not
diverting to Danno’s apartment and locking his younger officer in for the night.
The scene just played out with the extended ohana would have been avoided. On
the other hand, the head of Five-0 had the sense that the best place to
objectively work through his friend’s irrational belief that his aunt had
somehow survived the tragedy was in the office. This was where their true homes
were. This was ground zero for the relentless hours of work and dedication. Here
they would step through the facts together, and as logic chipped through the
denial, Steve was determined to be there for Danno. It was true – had to be
true in order for Williams to make it to the other side – an awesome wall of
pain was headed for the surfing detective, like a thirty-foot wave at the
Pipeline. Just like that moving mountain of water, this emotional wave was
going to overwhelm, consume and crush his friend and there was nothing he could
do to save Williams from the anguish. What he could do was minimize the hurt a
little by letting Danno talk this through. Gently, he would attempt to push the
conversation in the right direction so Dan would see the error of his ways
himself and leave nothing for McGarrett to do but listen and provide support
before taking Danno home.
“Steve, I know you doubt my theory, but
once you hear it, I think you’ll change your mind.”
Williams paced over by the desk, and then
turned to face his boss as Steve leaned on the edge of the desk. He didn’t want
to be behind the barrier, sitting in his chair, but close, accessible.
“Okay, Danno, shoot.”
There was a pause, as if the younger
detective expected an argument. Then he quickly plunged ahead after a deep
breath. He repeated his comments about Clara acting odd, about her conversation
over a will and last wishes, and her urging both of them to settle down.
“Marriage was really on her mind this time.
She bugs me about that all the time, telling me to settle down and get married
and all that jazz. Heck, she even started in on you, and she wouldn't normally
-- okay, well, maybe she would, but still -- it really seemed to be on her mind
this time." Pacing a circuit in front of McGarrett, Williams became a
swirling storm of energy and sound. “Why? I’ll tell you why – I think her whole
reason for the warnings and everything was because she was going to ditch Devon
and company!”
Against type, McGarrett became the calm
center of the hurricane in this moment – the stationary hub of reason as the
colorful and plaintively poignant denials flew from the agitated officer. Never
saying a word, Steve let his friend talk out the points while he offered nods
or grunts, but never interrupted with a comment. What would he say anyway? Dan
truly convinced himself that Clara did not die in the plane crash.
“Now you know how dramatic she can get,” he
almost smiled in embarrassment, no doubt thinking about the misadventure
earlier this year when Clara became an unexpected undercover operative for
Five-0. {episode – RETIRE IN SUNNY HAWAII FOREVER} “I think she was playing at something, Steve, and
she slipped away. I’d almost think it was sinister, except I can’t explain
that. Maybe she hasn’t even heard about the crash yet!”
The ramblings sounded like they were being
strung together off the cuff, but McGarrett did not interrupt. He allowed his
second to talk it out, never commenting on the absurdity and the unrealistic
stretches of imagination weaving this fabrication together.
As Dan neutrally laid out the facts in his
investigation, Steve recognized a scary parallel – that his friend was acting
in a manner that he could almost see himself performing! Inventing an
investigation because that was where he could find solace.
Dan paced and expounded and Steve’s eyes
burned with commiseration, knowing that, with the tremendous effort being
expended to create this mythical mystery, Danno was going to come down hard
when it really hit him that the story was nothing more than visions from his
imagination. The desperate striving to make sense of it all stabbed right to
his soul and reaffirmed his vow to let his friend down as gently as possible.
When Williams, clearly wearing the tension
and grief of the day in his countenance and physical carriage, slumped, Steve
came to his feet and stepped close. “Danno,”
he gently began, “Let’s take this a little slower.”
Suspicious and defensive, Dan’s eyes
widened, obvious what he was thinking. “You don’t believe me.”
How few times in their years together had
he doubted his friend? He could not lie now, but tried a new angle, and
tempered the truth. “I think you’ve been working hard at this all day and
you’re about to collapse.”
Williams’ forehead wrinkled, as he assessed
the neutral stance. Tone guarded, he wondered, “You do believe me?”
Wiping away a fine line of sweat on his
face, Dan dug into his pocket and his face suddenly froze. Frantic, he grabbed
at something and pulled his hand out, staring at the palm. He held the necklace
Clara had given him before she left. It was painful for McGarrett to watch his
face as he struggled with a shadow of grief, then forced it behind a wall of
tough resolve.
“I forgot I had this,” was his thick
explanation.
Steve tenderly put an arm around Dan’s
shoulder, took possession of the jewelry and pocketed it. “I’m taking you home,
Danno. You’re going to stay there and get a decent night’s sleep. Then I’ll
pick you up in the morning and we can talk all this out with clear minds.”
“We have to move on this now, Steve! There’s no time to waste in
finding Aunt Clara!”
In a firm, but quiet tone, McGarrett
ordered the officer to report on his investigation so far. When Danno outlined
his steps of the day aloud, he was drawn to the obvious conclusion in
McGarrett’s summation. All that could be done had been done. Five-0 could
follow up what Williams already started. It had been a raw, long day and now it
was time to take it easy. Only the briefest hint of resistance caused him to
pause, then Williams held his eyes for a moment and seemed to appreciate
Steve’s iron determination. This was not up for negotiation. Then he gave a
tight nod.
Keeping a hold of Dan as they walked into
the main office, Steve told Jenny his plans. Fortunately, she was on the phone
and did not share more than an understanding smile to him and Dan.
“Take care,” she whispered to Williams,
then went back to focusing on the call.
McGarrett noted Paddy was behind Jenny’s desk
changing a ribbon in the typewriter. As he guided Williams through the office,
he stopped to clue in Duke. Chin was nowhere to be seen. Steve proceeded,
determined to get his friend clear of the work temptations before Danno
protested and lobbied to stay.
“I was just keeping busy, trying to be
useful,” Paddy explained as he joined them, wiping his hands on a cloth before
stuffing it into a back pocket of the overalls.
“Nice work,” Dan commented quietly to
Paddy, who walked beside the officer.
As they stepped into the hall, McGarrett
was about to tell the informant to go back and remain with Lukela, but stopped
himself as he noticed Williams holding the door open for the thin little man. Acting
in a solicitous and custodial manner, Danno was watching out for his charge. That
was a nice attention to duty, but it would also serve a dual purpose. A good
distraction. Something to divert his friend’s attention from the unavoidable,
impending wall of grief.
Again, the ride was endured in silence, all
three men consumed with their own thoughts. Glancing frequently at Williams,
McGarrett continually assessed his expressions and considered Dan’s mute
pondering. No reaction one way or the other – good or bad – was evident. No
breaking down and accepting Clara’s death, but no violent denials. It occurred
to him that Dan’s usual flash-point temper was not in evidence at all and that
it might be something to watch out for. The energy he displayed was all
channeled to spinning this wild theory about Clara skipping out to avoid a
marriage proposal.
Just returning from interviewing neighbors
about an arson fire at a tourist shop, Chin barely sat down at his desk before
the phone rang. Picking it up, he was surprised to hear the voice of his friend
Mick Windsor on the line.
“I thought you would be pretty busy today,
Mick.” Aware of the grim work required of FAA inspectors during this crisis,
Kelly still smiled. He liked the tall, transplanted Oklahoman who always had to
be warned to protect his fair skin from the intense Hawaiian sun. “You gonna
bring us into the case?”
“First,”
That was the first Kelly had heard of the
visit and he frowned at the news. Williams was as headstrong as McGarrett in
many ways, and – while it did not surprise him that their young friend was
working some counterproductive plan of his own – it did dismay him.
“I think he’ll be okay,” Chin revealed,
believing it. “Steve’s taking care of him.” Anyone who knew the top two
officers of the unit would understand that phrase. Under McGarrett’s wing,
Williams would be all right because Steve would make certain of it.
“Funny
thing, Danny was insistent and, well, I just wondered what you thought of his
theory, Chin. Cause we’ve come up with a little mystery of our own here.”
“What?”
“We
were out here within thirty minutes of the crash. We have yet to find so much
as a single passenger body part or a personal object anywhere.”
Born and raised here in
Mick continued, checking off the plane
parts they HAD found, which included: a portion of the mid section of the
fuselage – where one would expect to find personal effects such as purses,
novels, cameras, jackets, there was nothing. The pilot’s and co-pilot’s bodies were
spotted inside the cracked and partially buried cockpit, but theirs were the
only human remains. Also, oddly, the divers noted that none of the passengers could
have been wearing their safety belts – no signs of stress or tears on the
belts.
“That’s very strange,” Chin admitted,
ruminating on the anomalies.
“You
don’t think Danny could be right do you?”
“Hmm,” Chin noncommittally breathed. “I
don’t know,” he admitted, completely puzzled. Danny, emulating his mentor, was
known to come up with brilliant – and accurate – theories without the benefit
of connective-tissue evidence. None of the detectives or HPD officers who knew
either McGarrett or Williams readily discounted their conjectures even if they
seemed outlandish. So that was what Danny was doing today, conducting an
independent investigation. “I’ll let you know, Mick.”
When they exited the elevator and walked
onto the open corridor of the apartment building, Dan fished for his keys. Glancing
at McGarrett, with a speculative tone, he asked, “So, you’re beaching me for
how long?”
“I want you to rest tonight,” he stipulated
with clear articulation. “I’ll come by in the morning and we’ll talk.” There –
nothing for his sometimes-obstinate officer to argue about – flexible and
reasonable, a timetable -- and the promise of support.
The smirk told him the message was received.
“Okay.”
Entering his apartment, Dan crossed to the
lanai and opened the door. Hands in pockets, he almost smiled. “You gonna lock
the door, too?”
Surrendering a low laugh that he had
actually been thinking that earlier, McGarrett returned, “Just get some rest. If
you need anything at all, I want you to call.”
Dan nodded, his eyes distracted by the
flowing curtain dancing in the wind.
“I mean it.”
“I will,” he promised.
Glancing at Paddy, who roamed into the
kitchen checking out the fridge, McGarrett gave a last look to Williams, who
threw him a nod that he was all right. Then McGarrett stepped out and closed
the door, walking a few paces before he stopped and turned, finding it hard to
leave, knowing what his friend was going to experience in the next few hours.
At some point tonight the grief would crash
down on him and it would be agonizing. After losing his parents and guardian uncle
already, with no relations left, Williams was taking this harder than Steve
expected. Fabricating the imaginary disappearance tale as a fantastic defense
against the pain was the proof. True, mourning
had its unique stages and affects on people. Different levels and reactions
were individual. When the reality hit Danno, it was going to be tough. Determining
he would come back later and check on his friend – suspecting Danno would not
call if he needed anything -- he walked slowly back to the elevator. Besides, he
had to find a safe house for Paddy. Danno did not need him underfoot during
this mourning process.
Unsettled, it wasn’t until he returned to
the office that Steve readjusted his thinking to get back to work. It had been
a distracting day and few Five-0 related duties were met with much of his
attention. Briskly walking into the main area, Chin gave him a wave, so he
stopped at his desk.
“Steve, got an interesting call from Mick.”
Just when his mind was shifting to other
things, it was brought back to the tragedy. “What did he say?”
As Chin related the conversation, McGarrett
grew disturbed at the report. No bodies after a whole day?
Heading into his office, he closed the door
and pondered, slumping behind the desk, not seeing the notes he stared at on
the blotter. No bodies... No personal effects… Aunt Clara acting strangely… Did
Danno have something in his cockeyed theory?
The phone rang a few times before he pulled
out of his concentrated funk to stare at the offending intrusion, debating on
whether to answer it or not, while knowing there was no option. “McGarrett,” he
barked before the headpiece reached his ear.
“Steve,
I heard the news through the coconut wireless,” the deep, grave
voice of Niles Bergman announced. “How is
Danny?”
“Doc,” McGarrett offered the one-word
greeting. The call should not have been unexpected. The internal communications
system of the Five-0 ohana was top notch, and between the wives and the cops,
everyone within the inner circle of the unit had to know by now. Tragic news
seemed to travel faster than the mundane, so it was unsurprising that this
depressing, personal aspect of the disaster had reached Bergman.
People had been calling all day, a fact of
which he was only marginally aware since Jenny handled most of the messages.
The only exception had been the governor. Bergman had apparently called
earlier, trying to get in touch with Williams, both for personal and
professional reasons. The medical examiner was Dan’s physician of record, but
there was no doubt that the man considered the Five-0 detectives a part of his
extended family.
“It’s been rough,” McGarrett hedged, not
feeling up to verbalizing too much.
“I’m
sure. It must be devastating for Danny. How is he holding up?”
That was a good question. As much as he
hated to reveal Danno’s embarrassing behavior, he knew Bergman, as a friend and
their physician, would be the right person to turn to for advice.
“In truth, Doc, not great,” he sighed,
leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes, the image of Williams’ adamant,
impassioned denials of a few hours ago ringing in his ears. “He can’t accept
the loss yet.”
“It
takes time, Steve.”
He cleared his throat. “No, Doc, I mean he
really can’t accept it. He – uh – he’s making up some pretty tall tales to
justify why she didn’t board the jet,” There was a noncommittal humph from the other end. Should he
clarify or drop it? Admittedly, he was out of his league here, and a little
help from someone with expertise in things psychological might be in order. The
bottom line was that he wanted Danno to come to terms with this and move on.
The longer he refused to accept reality, the worse he was going to feel when it
really hit him. “He spent the day checking out every detail he could think of –
trying to prove his aunt was still alive, and came up empty.”
Another
hmmm, this time drawn out in expressive disappointment. “That doesn’t sound good, Steve. I don’t suppose he would come in and talk to my friend –“
“You know him better than that.”
“Yes,
I’m afraid I do. Well, I’d like to talk to him, at the very least.”
“How about we give him another day, Doc?
Let him see if he can work it out on his own.”
“Well,
I assume you’re going over there to check on him regularly. Or more often,” was the wry
addition. “If you think it might help, I
can drop by, Steve. If not, then just let me know how he’s doing.”
“Thanks, Doc. I appreciate your concern.”
Hanging up, he contemplated the offer from
Bergman. Hand still on the phone, he debated on calling back the physician.
Danno had him more worried than he could put into words. Gradually leaning
back, releasing the instrument, he wondered if he was up to the challenges this
task presented. It would mean talking to Danno, dealing with him on such a
personal level… breaking down his barriers and opening up as he had not allowed
himself to do in years. Even for Danno, he hesitated, but in reality, he knew
he could do nothing else but support his friend in such a dire time of need.
Concern for his friend had edged out attention
to work for most of the day. For a couple of hours, he half-heartedly focused
on wrapping up the tasks which absolutely had to get done before he called it a
day. Slowly though, his apprehension increased as the recollection of the
conversation with Bergman continually inserted itself into his thought process.
He should not have left Danno alone for so long – perhaps he should not have
left him at all. Even though his friend should be resting, he decided that he
was within his rights as a friend – nay, a brother - to check on him as soon as
he could complete his mission-critical duties.
After Steve left, Dan went through the motions of removing his tie
and jacket, and tossing the clothing on the back of the sofa. Unbuttoning his
collar button he walked out to the lanai and removed his shoes and socks,
putting his bare feet on the small table set between the two chairs and stared
out at the blue ocean topped by an azure sky.
Billowed clouds in graduated tints of white, gray, and charcoal
drifted toward shore with the promise of evening rain. Late-afternoon sun cast
dying rays of gold, frosting the whitecaps with a shimmering burnished light
across the blue water. Tinted sepia sails dipped and pitched with the sway of
the waves.
The pleasant sight did nothing to settle his churning heart. The
conversation with Steve had not gone as he expected. Geared for a battle,
defensive and ready to take the offense, Steve had been passive, neutral and
nothing but understanding. That was good, of course, but it had really taken
the wind out of his sails. More than that, Steve's gentle and caring attitude
brought home the depth of Steve's feelings. Without agreeing or disagreeing
with Dan's suppositions, his friend offered only consolation and support. That
really made him think.
For the first time since he formulated his ideas about Clara's
disappearance, he pondered what he must sound like to others. What had Steve
thought? That he was crazy? Too good of a friend to say so, he had tolerated
the theories without judgment. Was he crazy? What did he look like to Steve?
Was he right? It had seemed logical to him for hours, but now, in the solitude
of his lanai, with Steve’s concerned eyes haunting him, he wondered if he was
deluding himself over this tragedy.
"Thought you might be hungry," Paddy interrupted.
Dan sat up and watched with disinterest as the janitor placed a
paper towel wrapped sandwich and bottle of beer down on the table. Paddy was
already munching on a sandwich and sipping from a beer bottle. Plopping down in
the other chair, the little guy stared out at the view and smiled even though
his mouth was stuffed.
"Hey, ya sure know how to live, Danny. Great scene. Didn't
know detectives lived this well."
"I'm thrifty," Dan absently commented.
"Eat up. You ain't had a bite all day. I didn't get that
much, either after Patty’s Kitchen. Donuts. Coffee. You folks at Five-0 sure do
like it thick and strong. Them cookies of Jenny's was a bit too rich for my
stomach. I'm used to a decent lunch. You need to take better care, Danny. You
protect the state, you know, got to keep up your strength. Here, eat.” He
shoved the sandwich closer.
Despite his lack of appetite, Williams knew he better comply just
to win back his solitude and silence. Munching on the sandwich, he was on the
third or fourth bite before noting that Paddy loved to slather his meals with
way too much mustard and mayo. Washing the food down with a gulp, Dan stared
out at the sea, slowly growing convinced that he had just made a monumental
mistake. That his theories were all wrong -- based on personal anguish and
twisted emotions way too close to his heart to give him any clarity.
Objectivity -- well-- that was nowhere in sight. What he really needed was some
time alone. Needed to clear his mind and feelings and get some perspective.
Realizing what his next steps needed to be, he wadded up the towel
and sandwich and tossed them onto the table, placing the beer next to them.
"Come on," he ordered, coming to his feet. "We're
going for a drive."
Not bothering to change or even leave his .38 behind, he checked
to make sure he had his keys and stood by the door as the janitor scurried to
join him; sandwich, and beer in hand. Dan removed the beer from his possession
and said they couldn't bring it in the car. Dashing to the kitchen counter,
Paddy snatched up an apple and dashed out as Dan shut and locked the door.
Stepping into the cool darkness of the underground garage, Dan
felt better the minute he laid eyes on his Mustang. Yeah it was his single
source of ego and material pride, but he couldn't help it. More than a mere
vehicle, it represented the culmination of years of dreams for the perfect
machine. It symbolized just what it looked like -- sleek as the wind, bright as
the sparkling sands of
"
"Yeah," he smiled as he slipped in, unlocking the
passenger door.
The latches were popped, the engine gunned to life and the top
rolled down to the background music of the Beach Boys in the tape deck. Pulling
his sunglasses from behind the visor he fit them on his head and pulled the car
out, dropping them over his eyes as they emerged into the startling brightness
of the late afternoon.
"So where we going?" Paddy asked, touching the dash,
playing with the automatic window and feeling the soft brush of the blue
material covering the custom seats.
"Don't know," Dan admitted as he turned left, smiling as
he noted Paddy stuffing his face with the sandwich and carefully folding the
paper towel so not even a crumb escaped into the immaculate car. "I just
need to drive."
"Whatever you say." the thin janitor grinned, beaming as
he closed his eyes and turned his face into the sun.
As he usually did, Dan took the scenic route around the tourist
stops of Blow Hole,
The wind in his hair was cooling, while the sun-heat on his skin was
drawing a fine sweat, the fresh off-sea breeze filling his lungs. These
elements culminated, as they always did, in the rush of freedom. The thrill of
the pounding horsepower under his body merged with the exhilaration of his
spirit unfettered and flowing with all around him as he raced through the
beauty of his island home. The Hawaiians believed there was a power in every
living thing; the wind, the moana, the aina. He could feel it – be one with it
– every time he revved his car to breathtaking speeds and hugged the curving
highway in a race north.
On a sensory level, he reveled in the momentum and aura of speed,
life and energy. Thoughts heavy, though, his mind dwelled mostly on his aunt's
fate and whether he had been denying all day an awful, horrific truth. Was she
dead? Did she go down with her friends in that crash? Did he really have any
solid reason to suspect an intervention of a kind Fate on his and Clara's
behalf?
"Aunt Clara thinks all her quirky friends are just
great," he began aloud, voicing the ponderous, troubling observations
pressing down on him. "They were just plain weird," he concluded. Not
wanting his traveling companion to reply -- not even considering this
conversation but a train of inner thought -- he continued. "She always
liked Devon's company," he condemned, "but he's really just a
womanizing playboy if you ask me. The guy's been married three times! She would
never be happy with that stuffed ego.” Passing a slow moving string of cars, he
zoomed ahead and smoothly glided back into the lane. "I've never liked
him. I don't blame her for ditching him.” He eased off the accelerator, thumb
tapping the steering wheel. "Why she likes him, I’ll never know.” The
thought was a lance of clarity, like a lightening bolt searing across the dark
clouds of his inner vision. "She likes him."
He
was having more and more trouble fitting the survival of Clara into the parameters
of a rational situation. Where was she? What explained her absence? She had not
contacted him. What else could it be? A yellow and blue Island cab nearly
clipped his bumper, and he sped past it changing lanes, realizing he was
probably not paying the attention to the road he should.
It
made no sense that no bodies had been found yet. But what did that mean? He
didn’t know. Did he suspect foul play? Sabotage on a troupe of elderly actors?
Why? What kind of a threat did they represent? They MIGHT be considered a
little controversial, breaking through the Bamboo Curtain into China, but this
was such a little thing, hardly anything to cause a political incident on
either side. What about those who hated the West and feared any influence from
a democracy was evil? Then where was the terrorist claim of success, like all
those nut cases liked to announce after acts of violence?
Long shadows stretched black-pencil outlines of the tall palms as
they sped along the two-lane highway at
Since driving through the Waimanalo area, he’d felt a heavy weight
in his chest as he reviewed that last scene at the airport. As they raced
around to Haleiwa, the sun was behind the mountains and the cresting waves
curled indigo/azure as they bubbled into the famous surf beaches. Past the
sleepy North Shore, where the surfers were starting to pack their boards for
the day, he realized why this inner discomfort would not go away. Steve had
been silent because he did not buy Dan's outlandish theories of Clara's survival.
As a cop, he knew that was because his suppositions were without any evidence
of any kind to back them.
Reaching the deserted beach stretch at Kaena Point, probably Dan's
favorite isolated meditation spot on the island, he parked on the firm sand just
off from the end of the broken asphalt road. Immediately exiting, he rolled up
his trousers to his calves, flung off his sandals, tossed them into the car,
and walked toward the waves. Pacing along the hard packed, wet sand, he allowed
the cooling water to caress his feet as he walked, hands in pockets, mesmerized
by the ebb and flow of the bubbling tide.
Clara would not have deserted her troupe. They were her friends.
Kooky, zany, and eccentric to the last, they were her buddies since the old war
days of the USO during the war. Besides not thinking they were so bad, she
actually reveled in their craziness! Despite their offbeat behavior, Dan could
appreciate what it meant to be a friend, and Clara was as loyal to her friends
as Dan was to his. Would he ever ditch his friends? No.
Legs trembling, knees giving way, he dropped to the sand, feeling
the tears rolling down his cheeks and unable to halt their flow. She had never
left them. He knew now that she would never do that. There was no reason to believe
she was anywhere now but with her friends, at the bottom of the channel. Sobs
shaking his whole frame, he fell, face in hands, into the sand, and wept.
The western sky was burnt-purple with the glow of twilight when he
raised his head and wiped his face dry. Numb, as stunned and dazed as when he
had heard the terrible news this morning, he felt tired, worn, and empty.
Coming to his feet, he trudged up the sand to the Mustang. Paddy,
picking up trash from around the beach and stuffing it into a small brown bag,
jogged after him.
Driving back, Williams took Oahu's middle freeways for fast and
direct return to
Shoveling the papers into his desk,
McGarrett paused to scan the tidied office, making sure everything was in order
before he closed up for the night. Satisfied, he locked the desk, and mentally
prepared for the debate that might ensue if Danno was still in a resistant
frame of mind. How was Steve going to refute the bizarre standpoint that his
aunt was still alive? He fervently hoped it would not come down to a cold, hard
delineation of the unpleasant facts in this tragic matter.
Dropping his desk key into his pocket, his
hand snagged on an object. The necklace, he remembered with a pang of poignant
melancholy. Drawing it out of his pocket, he studied the Victorian-styled blue
cameo of a woman. Realizing it was a locket, he opened it. A white piece of
paper fell out. Fetching his magnifying lens he read the tiny, neat print:
|
G58J3DX1 DT43WT 67PLAFM4, Danny, Call
the number below and recite this information (and please dear, I know you’re
a good policeman, but don’t ask too many questions.). Remember always that I
love you – HRH, the Duchess. |
G58J3DX1
DT43WT 67PLAFM4,
Steve didn’t know the exact cipher, but he
knew a coded message when he saw one! Chilled, he felt instantly propelled
right back to his NI days of intrigue and spies! What was this all about? Was
that Clara’s handwriting? She used the special nickname between her and Danno –
Duchess. It had to be from her! What did it mean?
Immediately, he snatched up the phone and
dialed the long distance number. After only one ring it was answered by a non-descript
emotionless voice. “Alpha whiskey zero
zero. This is an unsecured line. Go ahead.”
More on instinct than knowledge, McGarrett
recited the alpha-numeric string from the tiny piece of paper, using military
designation for the letters. At the end of the message there was a pause, and
then a neutral response.
“Received.
Code name?”
What was he going to say? The Duchess was
just not going to work! When all else fails, maybe a little of his island style
shaking the coconuts out of the trees. How about the truth? “Steve McGarrett.”
The phone clicked dead.
Slowly hanging up, he pondered the strange
turn of events. He could not fathom what was going on. Rereading the message,
it did not become any clearer. The phone rang, and he glanced at the instrument,
annoyed at the interruption, then did a double take. The secure line from
“McGarrett,” he barked into the phone.
“Steve,
I just got a strange call from one of our stations. Did you just call using the
Golf- Juliet- Delta code?”
“I guess I did, Jonathan.”
“What
are YOU doing with that code?”
“It’s a long story,” he sighed. “Let me ask
you something. How did Clara Williams get hold of an intelligence code?”
“Clara
Williams… How could you know about her?”
At that, Steve snorted, “She’s Danno’s aunt
and only living relative, Jonathan,” he snapped back into serious leveling. “What
was she doing with a code?”
“I –
uh – Danny’s aunt?”
“Yes, Jonathan, and I want some answers.”
“What
is she saying?” he cagily returned.
Sobered, McGarrett broke the news that she
and her entire troupe went down in a plane crash. The silence at the other end
gave him shivers and he demanded to know what it all meant. "Jonathan, I
need a straight story here!"
"Steve, Clara Williams, and the
"Ours?”
The implication hit him instantly although denial was hammering in his brain
with the overwhelming sound of a gong. "Ours? As in -- working for our
side? As in operatives of yours?" He sucked in a breath.
"Yes. Steve, what happened? Are you telling me
that Clara did not survive the crash?"
A
little numb, Steve rasped out the only thing he could say. "No one
survived."
Moans
and quiet gasps came from the other end, but Steve's mind was already moving on
from the shock. Appreciating Danno's current stunned reactions to the crash, he
was also taken aback that his second's idea about the survival of his aunt was
possibly a reality. Clara and her pals – Intelligence operatives! That put a
completely new light on everything. Including his friend's sixth sense. Danno
had insisted something strange, even sinister -- his words – had happened to
his aunt. Her odd behavior had clicked into his subconscious without evaluating
the logic and reason of what the evidence suggested. What had happened to Clara
and her friends?
"Steve, you are looking into the possibility
that this was sabotage, I hope."
"I
will now," he assured, "but first I want some answers.”
"Believe it or not, Steve, they've been in the
game since long before you or me. Since the war."
"World
War Two. They were spies?"
"Every one of them worked for
Irked
that Kaye was trying to find intrigue with his second, he shot back, "No,
Jonathan, that’s pretty apparent from the note I have here.”
Kaye
insisted on knowing everything and Steve gave over every detail, including,
reluctantly, Clara's last interview at the airport. While he relived the
emotions of the scene, Kaye noted the facts and shared his chilling supposition
with the head of Five-0. Clara must have been worried -- thinking their
identities and mission were compromised, and given the locket and information
-- cryptically -- to her nephew. Skeptical that Clara knew anything about
Williams-the-younger’s forays into espionage via his work with Five-0, he
thought the entire snafu was coincidence in his favor.
While
Steve could not look upon the amazing events as anything but tragic, he could
see the agent's take on the chain of circumstances leading to the old, veteran
spy -- Clara -- connecting with her nephew. A relation who happened to be a cop
with glancing experience in these intrigues.
Mulling
over what had evidently taken place, he asked the question itching in the back
of his mind. “I don’t suppose you’re going to enlighten me about what she was
involved with?”
“Well, if she didn’t spill it to you or Danny – and
why should she – then no, sorry, need to know.”
Need
to know… Steve really hated that phrase. After the conversation, Steve stayed
at his desk for a while, pondering over the amazing revelations. As much as it
pained him to admit it, there was no way to get around the fact that Danno had
to know. Whether it was a comfort to him or not, Danno's theories about his
aunt were close to being correct. There was no indication, really, that she
left the plane and was spared, but there were certainly sinister events swirling
around the elderly relative.
With
the oddity of no bodies or personal affects being retrieved at the crash site,
there was in fact grounds for suspicion.
The
head of Five-0 let his eyes drift towards the clock on his desk.
The sun had already slipped beneath the
horizon when he arrived at the door of Williams’ condo. Taking a breath, still
sorting out what he might say, McGarrett lightly knocked on the wood. There was
no response instantly, so he withdrew his keys.
“Who’s there?” came a whisper from the
other side.
Not Danno. It took him a moment to remember
Paddy was still with his friend. Another unresolved issue to deal with.
“McGarrett. Open up.”
The locks were released and the door swung
open quickly, with no one in sight. The janitor must be paranoid – and
rightfully so -- he guessed as he stepped into the living room. The lanai was
open and he breathed in the fresh, ocean air. The door whooshed shut and Paddy
tidily locked up with alacrity.
“Glad you’re here, Mister McGarrett. I was
gonna call you. He hasn’t moved since we got back.”
Not surprised to see his friend sitting in
one of the chairs on the lanai, tension increased at the dire, unexpected news.
He had come here ready to present the amazing new information about Aunt Clara
to his friend. The still form on the lanai filled him with anxiety and washed
all other mysteries and considerations from his mind.
“What’s wrong?”
“He’s like a scary statue, just sittin’
there. After we came back, he wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t move. I
fixed him a sandwich and–“
“Where did you go?”
“Out to a beach on the
Chilled with apprehension, he knew Danno
shot up to a favorite beach whenever he had something on his mind. The subject
of discussion had not moved since McGarrett’s entrance, a fact which made his
skin crawl with dread.
“He sat on the beach and cried his heart
out, poor lad. Since then he hasn’t said a word. I been cleaning the
cupboards—”
“Let me handle it, Paddy.”
He moved slowly through the room to stand
for a moment at the threshold of the glass door. There was no reaction from his
officer, and he stepped over to sit in the empty chair beside his friend. This
was no time to bother him about sinister plots or spy players. Danno was in
shock and needed to get beyond this dangerous emotional spot.
“Danno?” When there was no response to the
quiet inquiry, he gently touched his friend’s shoulder. “Danno.” There was an
infinitesimal shake of the head, but the glassy eyes, rimmed with red,
continued to stare out at the ocean. He placed a gentle hand on the younger
man’s arm. “Danno.” The tone was a little sharper, harder; the squeeze from his
shaking hand tensely firm. No compromise now. “Danno, I need you to talk to
me.”
“I didn’t take her seriously,” came the
broken whisper, barely audible above the hushed surf from the beach nine
stories below the lanai. As if every sound, aside from the eternal ebb and flow
of the tide, had muted long enough for him to relay his tremulous message. “It
was my – last – chance.”
Irony was not welcome, and McGarrett pushed
aside the searing bitterness acknowledging the twisted and painful turn of
events. Now was certainly not the time to bring up anything that hinted about
mystery in Clara’s past. Danno had crashed. He had accepted that his aunt was
dead.
“Last chance,” the plaintive whisper was
repeated, the tone as empty as the accompanying daze.
“Danno, do you think you can get some
rest?”
“Last… chance… I can’t make it up to her
now…”
Swallowing down a knot of fear, Steve
recognized this was far more serious than he had anticipated. Danno seemed to
have spiraled into a dangerous, emotional abyss. Shock and grief had hit him
harder than McGarrett had imagined it would. It had been the denial, of course,
the insistence that Clara had survived. Then, at some point, probably driving
his beloved machine through the sparkling, Hawaiian afternoon sunrays and
bracing wind, sitting on his favorite scenic, tropical beach, it hit him. The
crash had come and it had left him limp and empty of anything but pain.
McGarrett recognized too late he should
have never left his friend alone. He should have been here to help. What could he
do now? Completely inadequate for this kind of intimate interaction, valiantly
he searched for something to say to ease the pain.
“Danno, it’s all right to— to— react. Grief
is natural,” he quietly began. There was obvious evidence that what Paddy reported
was true, that the younger officer had been weeping over his loss. That should
have helped break through the initial phase of grief. It should not have left
Dan so remote. Not to him. “Danno, do you think you can eat something, then
maybe rest? Sleep would do you good.”
An almost imperceptible shake of the head
was the only reply. With a shiver, he noted Danno’s hands were trembling even
while gripping tight to the arms of the chair. He had never seen him like this,
and it was unnerving. Scared, McGarrett went down on one knee to make eye
contact with the distant detective. Williams blinked, but otherwise did not
acknowledge him.
“I’m going to sit with you–“
“Go away, Steve,” came a sniffed-back sob.
“I lose everyone close to me. Anyone I love ends up dead. Do you want to be
next? I can’t afford to lose you,” he shook his head. The sob escaped and he
sucked in a deep draught of air. “Just – just – go…“
Alarmed, McGarrett was speechless at the
unexpected and shocking declaration. So certain, filled with such misery, the
attitude and suffering made him ache with a whole new hurt and fear. Danno was
slipping in a bewildering and frightening direction. How had this tragedy
shifted from a heartrending accident for Clara to an all-encompassing crisis
for Danno? He had thought it himself earlier today – Danno had lost so many
people in his life. His single, remaining relative was the last straw,
apparently. Her death had tilted him into profound depression.
Aside from the terror and heartbreak,
enough of his innate resolve surfaced to stubbornly refute the assertion, “I’m
staying right here with you, Danno.”
The object of his pity just shook his head
and looked away.
Steve sat back in the chair, watching his
afflicted friend. Out of his depth here, he knew he could not handle this
alone. Danno needed more than just his silent and inadequate support. Williams
leaned his head back in his chair, too, and closed his eyes, seemingly drifting
into a light doze. The stress and ache of the day had to have played on his
body as much as his nerves. Without much food and a lot of expended energy, he
had to be exhausted. His twitching limbs attested to taut muscles not relaxed
even when the mind had surrendered to a temporary slumber.
Taking advantage of the respite, slowly
standing and backing away, McGarrett slipped inside to the phone and dialed
Bergman’s home number. Dora Bergman answered and offered condolences, but the
head of Five-0 distractedly ignored her small talk of sympathy. He cut through
the amenities and asked for her husband to get on the line. As soon as the
doctor was on, his explanation was terse.
“I’m at Danno’s, Doc. Can you come over?”
It was no small thing to summon the man
after hours. That alone would speak more than his limited explanation. At least
the Bergmans were close by, staying near
While waiting, McGarrett returned to the
lanai and sat next to his friend, selfishly – he thought – relieved that his officer
did not want to interact at the moment. Helpless and distraught himself, he
breathed a sigh of relief at the knock on the door. Paddy scurried to hide in
the bedroom, while McGarrett ushered Bergman inside.
The physician sat in the chair McGarrett
had just vacated and quietly talked to the traumatized younger detective. There
were no more verbal responses, just grunts, or nods of the head, to indicate
acknowledgement of the questions.
Frowning at the head of Five-0 who was
hovering behind the two seated men, Bergman explained, “Danny, I‘m going to
give you something to help you sleep.”
“It won’t help,” he refuted blackly. “It
won’t erase my mistakes.”
Steve couldn’t help but flinch, but neither
of the other men reacted more than that to bleak self-indictment. He wanted to
shake Danno out of this, but knew only patient, agonizingly slow time would
help now.
“Steve, would you go get something to help
wash down a few pills, please?” the doctor asked without taking his eyes off
Williams.
Bergman probably wanted him away from the
circle of intensity – no doubt he was adding to the stress level on the small
lanai. Surrounded by unimaginable beauty, they were oddly knotted in a tiny
microcosm of anguish here. The breeze from the arriving rain brushed away the
subtle scents of tropical flowers, and served as nature’s metaphoric teardrops,
a final aloha on the life of a remarkable woman, and the beginning of dark days
for his closest friend.
McGarrett moved into the kitchen to get a
glass of water, paying more attention to the tableau on the lanai than his
chore. That there was no reaction from Williams of any kind to the proposal of
medication set off even more alarms inside McGarrett. His friend was so dazed –
guilt-ridden – nothing was penetrating the Stygian fog of misery. This was so
outside the realm of the Danno personality that it made Steve ache. He had seen
his friend in the throes of anger, misery, contrition, pain, remorse; most of
those dark emotions surfacing when Jane Michaels was murdered. This was beyond
anything he’d experienced before, or expected even in this tragedy. Knowing the
sensitive younger officer, this extreme was rooted in the regret of what he saw
as his failure as a nephew. Now that Clara was past the ability to forgive, it
worked deep into Danno’s soul. Perhaps as devastating as Danno’s rift with his
uncle, who tragically died before the two could make peace {fanfic – COIN series by BH}.
What was that impassioned crack about
losing people he loved? The list he had just mentally reviewed were people
Danno had loved and lost. How could there be any guilt attached to any of their
deaths? It was ridiculous, but there was little reason connected to grief, he
well knew. And deep beneath the buoyant personality of Williams lurked deeply
buried angst from the past.
Sunset rain splattered on the concrete
floor of the lanai, the trade winds blowing misty clouds of moisture onto the
men. The weather was disregarded by McGarrett as he handed the glass to
Williams, who ignored it. Bergman made a gesture to take it, but McGarrett was
not going to let an intermediary come between him and essential connection with
his friend.
Crouching down, he hunched in front of his
friend and touched his hand. “Danno. Here.” The cool, wet glass was pressed
against his friend’s arm. The tactile contact slowly emerged the dazed man to
awareness and he accepted the water like a zombie.
Bergman handed the younger officer two
pills. When there was no move to swallow them, the doctor ordered, “Danny, they
aren’t going to jump into your mouth.” He pushed the hand and Williams complied
woodenly. Downing the pills with a few gulps of water, then relaxing his hand,
the glass nearly dropped to the floor. McGarrett grabbed it just in time to
stop it hitting the tile.
“Danny, why don’t you go rest?” It was not
a request and Bergman accentuated his order by gripping onto the younger man’s
arm.
Falling in with the plan, McGarrett took
hold of Williams’ other arm, slowly pulled his friend to his feet, and then,
maintaining a firm grip, unhurriedly escorted him to the bedroom.
Unobtrusively, he noted, Paddy had slipped into the kitchen. Bergman and
McGarrett hovered in the doorway while Williams sat against the headboard of
the bed.
“Call me tomorrow, Danny, let me know how
you’re doing,” Bergman requested, then drifted away.
Sitting on the side of the bed, McGarrett
placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Just take it easy, Danno. I’m right
here. Everything’s going to be okay, trust me. It doesn’t look like it now, I
know, but it will get better.”
Williams nodded and released a heavy sigh.
“I thought it was all a plot.”
“What?”
“Clara’s disappearance from the plane. At
the airport, something seemed so… not right,” he forlornly explained, staring
at the far wall, his eyes blinking heavily. He huffed in a rough whisper, “I
totally misinterpreted what was going on. I thought she was trying to tell me
something she couldn't say out loud. The Duchess and her–” the voice broke. He
took a deep breath and shook his head. “I dreamed up some ridiculous theory ‘cause
I couldn’t handle the truth.”
Good. It looked like the denial phase was
over, Steve considered. Despite the news about Clara’s secret vocation, there
was no evidence yet of any conspiracy to take out the Manhattan Players. “We
can talk it over later.”
He stayed there until Williams’ eye lids
grew heavy. When the head started to droop, McGarrett grabbed the pillows and
piled them to the side, then gently pushed the younger officer over to lean on
them. Only when he heard the soft snores did he feel it was all right to shift.
With gentle and gradual effort, he removed his friend’s .38, to offer Williams
a more comfortable rest, then he slowly backed out of the room.
Standing in the doorway he pondered his
next move. There was no need to stay while his friend slept, but he hated to
leave. McGarrett knew there was nothing he could do for his Danno now. Time was
the only healer that could help the grieving process. Later, when the numb
shock and misery had been tempered with a good night’s sleep, he would be here
to listen and talk, or to just sit and share the silence with his friend.
Whatever Danno needed.
Closing the Japanese screen door of the
bedroom, he joined Bergman in the kitchen with Paddy. They were discussing
cleaning crews at the hospital.
“I see you’ve gotten to know each other,”
he commented, then moved on to more important concerns. “Will Danno be all
right for a little while? There are a few things I’ve got to take care of.”
“The sedative I gave him was a strong one. It
should keep him knocked out until morning. He is most definitely in shock, but
then he has a right to be. He’s suffered a terrible loss. Let me know how he’s
doing in the morning. I know he’s unlikely to do that on his own,” the
physician wryly assessed.
“Yeah, you’ve got that right,” he admitted,
still preoccupied with worry at Danno’s breakdown of grief.
“Anything Dora and I can do, just let me
know. I think she’s already got the women’s brigade arranging food or
something.” He patted the Five-0 leader’s arm. “He’ll be fine, Steve, don’t
worry too much.”
“Right,” he agreed unconvincingly. He knew
all the trite remarks, all the clichés for death and loss and pain. Applying
them to himself, or to his closest friend, was not as easy as uttering the
empty commiseration.
Reaching for the door, Bergman turned back
with a long-suffering sigh. “If his behavior still concerns you in the morning
let me know.”
“Thanks, Doc,” the detective breathed as
the door closed behind the physician.
McGarrett paused to mentally ponder his
next moves. Danno was going to sleep for a while. By the time Williams awoke,
Steve hoped to have more answers from the recovery teams. He had to stand ready
to support Danno in the agonizing necessity of dealing with the dead; funeral
arrangements, will, etc. That would all be after the Coast Guard recovered
Clara’s body. He hoped that would be soon, so that part of the agonizing ordeal
would be over and Danno could move on to mourning and putting the accident
behind him.
Turning, he observed Paddy, rearranging
mugs on a cupboard shelf. What to do with the informant who had been Danno’s
shadow for the day? There had been no time to arrange a safe house or security
plans. Not feeling social or hungry, he decided to get the informant a meal and
give HPD a chance to set up a safe house. Not as laid-back and generous as
Williams about letting strangers into his life, he was not going to invite the
skinny, little guy back to his place, that was for sure!
“Come on, Paddy, time to go.”
“You think Mister Williams is gonna be
okay? Been a tough day for the young guy. Maybe I should stay.”
The question was an affront to the
protective leader, who considered care and attention to his staff as his prevue
alone! A little irritated at the questioning of an order – he’d had more than
enough of that for today – McGarrett was ready to snap out a harsher edict, but
he paused. Seeing the sympathetic concern on Paddy’s expression he thought
better of the rebuke. Paddy had attached himself to Williams as a protector,
but now the roles were reversed. The churning events had helped take the
tension away from the danger to Paddy. Now, it was time to face that reality.
“We’re going to allow Officer Williams to
rest. And I’m going to take you to a safe house.”
“You plannin’ on eatin’? I scraped a bit of
a meal together. But your detective doesn’t have much in the way of a packed
fridge.”
Feeling a little more generous toward the
strange interloper who had fallen into their lives on this fateful day, he
smiled. “No, he doesn’t.”
“It’s your lifestyle,” the man advised.
“Too busy. You guys should take time for a decent meal.”
His own stomach was growling in a reminder
that he had neglected simple things like eating on this tumultuous day. His
appetite wasn’t really there now, but his insides were telling him he should
eat whether he felt like it or not. “Ever had Ono’s Barbeque?”
“Can’t say that I recall.”
“I’m going to call and get a hideaway set
up. We’ll pick up some food along the way. I’ll have you guarded until the
trial.”
“You mean till Mister Williams is himself
again.”
Pensively, McGarrett glanced at the closed
bedroom screen. “Yes. Until he’s himself again.”
Exiting, and then pausing at the door for a
moment, Steve silently promised to be back soon. He didn’t want to leave his
friend anymore than Paddy did – less.
The
ache of loss had been dulled for a period of time unknown to Williams, but the
persistent tormentor somehow managed to find a particularly weak place. Where
guilt about mistakes now uncorrected into eternity lived, and pierced his heart
anew. The nightmare was instantly unclear as Dan’s eyes snapped open. For
untold moments, Williams stared at the luminous clock hands as their lime green
arrows ticked the seconds and minutes in the dark bedroom. Mind muzzy, he could
not drift away to sleep again, or come to a level of conscious awareness that
was a state of normal functionality.
Feeling
the weight of sluggish sedation on his system, he fought the lethargy,
attempting to think. It was very hard. Beyond the detached, cottony shelter of
the drugs, would be the sharp blade of anguished mourning. Here, insulated from
emotions by chemicals, he was armored against the worst of the pain that,
intellectually, he knew was waiting for him just the other side of the magic
pills.
He
did not want again to go through the uncontrolled weeping that had wracked him
on the beach. Nor did he desire to hide in unconsciousness when there were
things to do. Accepting Clara’s death had been rough. He wondered why he had
been so devastated. He loved her, yes, but he had cried like a kid. He had said
some pretty stupid things too. Nothing like what he had been acting like all
day, though, he knew even in this gently altered state. Even though his stoic
friend must have been embarrassed by his behavior, Steve had been patient and
kind and must think he was a complete flake!
His
mind snagged on the mysteries surrounding the crash, and he knew this was yet
another crutch, but a more acceptable and reasonable one than his ultimate
denial. This was who he was; an investigator, a curious cop who was naturally
compelled to find solutions to puzzles. What had happened to the charter jet?
And what was the mysterious message Clara was trying to tell him at the
airport? And the necklace – the necklace!
Slowly,
he edged up and sat on the side of the bed. What had he done with the locket?
Her last gift to him and he'd lost it! Feeling tears threaten at the back of
his eyes, he drew in a few deep breaths and tried to focus. No good. So much of
the day was a blur. Standing unsteadily, leaning on his headboard, he searched
his pockets. No locket. Had he dropped it in the car? His hand fumbled on the
night stand for his keys, and, locating them, he stumbled out of his bedroom
barefoot. Turning on the light in the living room, he leaned on the couch for
support.
“Stang… need to get down to the Mustang. Or
the LTD? I must have left it there -- somewhere,” Dan mumbled to himself. “How
could I….”
Williams
made his way out the door at an uneven pace. Breathing in the cool, fresh,
night air kissed with misty rain, the detective felt better. Coming to a stop
at the elevator, he saw it was making a slow trek upward, and decided he was
better off taking the stairs. He leaned heavily on the railing and took each
step in measured, careful strides. At the landing, he paused to stabilize the
mild vertigo hovering in his head. Glancing upward, it was with detached
interest he noted three men walking towards his apartment. With the dulled
reaction of one drugged for sleep, he casually noticed that they did not bother
to knock, but kicked in the door… What? WHAT!!
He
gasped. What was going on? Were they after Paddy? What had happened to the
little janitor anyway? Did Steve take him?
"Hey!"
Dan yelled indignantly.
The
trailing intruder, a thin Asian, looked in his direction, and alerted his
cohorts with a shout of his own. Immediately, the trio reversed course. For the
first time in hours, Dan’s grief evaporated as a burst of adrenalin pushed him into
instinctive action. They were coming after him! He raced down the flight of
steps with all speed. With an under-his-breath epithet, he cursed that his
revolver was upstairs.
The
detective made a panicked, but clumsy, descent to the garage level. A half
dozen missteps later, he reached the LTD and fumbled with the lock. He dropped
the keys, then tried again and opened the door. As the engine started he
grabbed the mic, dropping that once as well before making use of it.
“Central.”
His voice was a dry croak. He tried again. “Central, this is Williams, put me
through to McGarrett. Now!” He threw the car into reverse as he off-handedly
considered that he should have just called for police backup from the nearest
available unit. Before he could amend the command, his boss’s voice crackled
through the speaker.
“Danno? What are you doing awake? Where are you? Do NOT tell me
you are driving!”
The
next instant he was jarred, slammed into the steering wheel, losing the mic
again. Groaning, he felt a little sick and very disoriented, aware that Steve
was calling to him from far away. Checking the rearview mirror, he moaned as he
spotted the looming cement pylon that was way too close. In the trunk of the
Ford sedan actually.
“I
hit a pole. I’m not driving. The pole stopped me,” he mumbled into the mic. With
his free hand he held onto his throbbing head.
“You tried to drive? Pole? Are you all right?”
The
reason he was in his car bounded back to the forefront of his thoughts. “Guys…
there are some guys – they’re breaking into my place!”
“Guys breaking in – Danno are you hurt? Did you hit
your head?”
Insulted
at the doubtful accusation, Dan countered, “I know when I see strangers kicking
in my apartment door!" Almost as an aside he mumbled, “I could take care
of them. If I had my gun… and my shoes… and I could see straight.” With the
last wish, Williams shook his head in the vain attempt to bring his mind to a
state of clarity.
“Danno, head for the Colony right now! I’m calling
for back up. Until they get there, I want you somewhere safe. With witnesses in
case there’s trouble. You understand? Danno, get to the Colony!”
Colony.
A luxury hotel just down the street. Witnesses. Safety in numbers. “Colony.
Yeah,” Dan agreed.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Danno, you got
that?”
“Got
it.”
Williams
dropped the mic then exited the car and made his way out of the garage.
Walk-running along Kalakaua, the tiki torch lights from the Colony became
visible. At the sound of an approaching vehicle Dan turned in mid-stride. The
quick twist of his head coupled with his continued forward momentum brought a
wave of vertigo in tandem with the sound of screeching brakes. He was slammed
to the street amid a blur of headlights and chrome washing through his shocked
and disoriented senses. Menacing, distorted Asian faces crowded around him just
before everything folded to black.
The
blue strobe of the emergency light from the squad car flashed against the tall
buildings along the avenue, signaling the police presence blocks before
McGarrett reached the scene. Good – good – back up was there already to assist
Danno.
His
heart hadn’t beat evenly since the terrifyingly fragmented call from Williams. Steve
and Paddy had ordered take out from Ono’s and were just entering the Mercury
when Williams’ summons came over the radio. Racing across the few blocks of
Waikiki night traffic, he could not navigate the couple of miles fast enough.
“Stay
down!” McGarrett ordered Paddy, who was already folded flat across the back
seat.
There
had been some errant moans and squeaks from the janitor during the hell-bent
drive. Finally, a shaking announcement struck Steve's ears. "Sanders musta
figured out I was with Danny!"
The
Five-0 boss ignored the speculative cry, and stopped just short of the HPD car
one building away from Danno’s complex. Not the Colony, he assessed as he bolted
out of the sedan to join two patrolmen. Noting that two other cruisers were
parked in the fire lane of his second’s residence, he wondered in passing
whether this set of officers was dealing with a completely different issue. The
uniformed men were standing on the sidewalk, interviewing two people, one of
whom was a gray-haired woman holding a tiny, leashed Chihuahua puppy.
The
shorter, older, Polynesian officer looked up from his notepad and his eyes grew
large with his recognition of the advent of the state police. McGarrett paused
at the squad car, disappointed that Danno was not in the backseat awaiting his
arrival
“Mister
McGarrett!”
“Officer,
where’s Dan Williams?”
The
blank stare was enough to send chills along his arms. “Dan Williams? Haven’t
seen him, sir. Maybe the guys who were first on the scene did.” He pointed with
his head towards the flashing lights up the block. “We responded to the call
for back up here, and came into a weird crime scene.”
Danno
was his top priority, but the likelihood of an unrelated event occurring within
minutes of a crime at his vulnerable colleague’s location seemed too unbelievable
to be a coincidence. “What happened?”
“Definitely
an odd one, sir.” He still seemed confused at the presence of the top cop of
the islands. “A hit and run – sort of -- but after the victim was hit, the guys
in the car leaped out, grabbed the victim, threw him in the back and drove
away!”
Chills
of dread now raced all along his skin. McGarrett instantly suspected it was his
friend who had come to harm in this strange incident eerily consistent with
Danno’s panicked certainty that someone had broken into the apartment.
McGarrett tersely asked for a description of the victim and how badly he was
injured.
The
woman holding the little dog spoke up. “It was a van. A white one, and the young
man who was struck by it was not dressed.”
Expecting
the worst – a verbal sketch of Danno’s general appearance, obvious and bloody
injuries -- he was taken aback by the prim comment. “Not dressed?”
“Bare
feet, trousers and a white t-shirt,” the gentleman next to the officers
corrected. “I retired from thirty-five years in the garment industry –“
“He
was bleeding!” the elderly woman shuddered. “I could see it on his face and he
wasn’t moving—”
Interrupting
the woman again, the older man offered a more comprehensive explanation. The
man and his wife were trying to house break their new puppy – this meant a
couple of late-night sojourns out of their apartment up the street. Their
attention was captured by a van careening out of what McGarrett knew was Dan’s
parking garage, and – to their complete amazement – bouncing up over the curb
onto the sidewalk directly at the young man rushing along towards the Colony.
“I
think he was drunk. He wasn’t walking straight, weaving like a drunken sailor!"
The woman’s expression displayed her distaste. “That’s when the three men –
Japanese—”
“Or
Chinese,” injected the old man.
“Or
Chinese,” the woman agreed before she continued, determined to get her side of
the story out. “That’s when they jumped out of the van and dragged the man into
their car and drove away!”
“Van,”
the husband corrected. “A panel van.”
“Yellow,”
the lady finalized.
McGarrett
held his breath and looked at the old man, almost expecting a correction, but a
nod from the male witness signified that he was in agreement with his wife.
“You’ve
got an APB out on the vehicle?” McGarrett demanded of the patrolman, whose name
tag he now read as
“It’s
not much of a description. A light-colored van with something painted on the
side. Mrs. Sanchez here thinks it was a lei on a pail.” His grimace seemed to
indicate he was reading McGarrett’s intense displeasure at the prevarication. “Something
like this, sir,” Logan anxiously extended his notepad revealing a rudimentary
sketch.
The
lead detective snapped up the paper and began to sprint towards the underground
garage of Danno’s apartment. Not sure what he expected to find, a glance at the
wrecked LTD, still stuck against the cement pylon told him part of the story.
Wincing, he checked the damage, automatically dreading the imminent wrangling
session with the state comptrollers over yet another incident involving a
Five-0 vehicle. Moving to glance at the front seat, he noted no signs of
trauma, grateful there seemed no trace of damage to his friend from the
low-impact crash.
An
impatient ride in the elevator up to his friend’s apartment offered
corroboration of Danno’s report that someone had gained violent access to the
condo. The frame was splintered and the door dented in the shape of a foot. Two
more HPD officers had already searched the apartment, and verified that the
place was empty of human occupation. The senior officer reported to McGarrett
that the door to Williams’ apartment had been ajar when they arrived. They
called for backup when the elderly couple flagged them down.
The
uniformed man relayed the results of their search – namely that no signs of a
struggle were visible. Only the damaged front door gave any indication that a
crime occurred. To satisfy himself, McGarrett cruised through the apartment,
and confirmed what the officer had already reported. He saw only what he would
have expected to see when he came to check on Danno. The bed was rumpled, shoes
on the floor, police special in the drawer, right where Steve had left them.
The
scenario confused him. Danno had left, without shoes, obviously in a hurry, but
how had he eluded thugs who broke down the door to get him? Asian thugs. He
didn’t know of any Asians in Sanders’ stable of strong arms, but that didn’t
mean much. How did Danno have time to race to the LTD, and then get to the
street? Presumably these were the same thugs after Paddy. How could they – and
Danno had indicated multiple assailants – NOT capture a detective, lethargic
and spacey from sedation?
The
whole picture was twisted, including the conclusion that Harrison Sanders’
muscle men would risk nabbing not only Paddy, but Danno – second-in-command of
the state police unit – on a public street in view of any number of witnesses.
What else could it be though? Disappointed there were no other clues
immediately available, he pushed the confusion aside and went to the phone.
Calling Dispatch, he set the wheels in motion to find Sanders. Chin Ho was
assigned to track down the suspect, and bring the man in. Duke was tasked with
checking on Sanders’ known henchmen – including any new ones recruited lately
-- and tracing their movements for the evening. Absentmindedly toying with poor
Aunt Clara’s locket in his suit pocket, he miserably mused that its secrets
would have to remain unknown until more important mysteries were solved.
“Danny
Williams… Danny…” The sound of his name brought him slowly from the depths
of unconsciousness. The voice was familiar, but held a vague dis-ease to the
detective as he opened his eyes and struggled to focus. The smooth, bald head… a
round face accented with distinctly Asian features...
“Where was the courier meeting the
Players? Who is the spy? Which one of the old foxes is the operative?”
“Wo Fat,” Dan breathed, not certain his
eyes were being completely honest with him.
Mild satisfaction saturated the Chinese
gentleman’s expression. “Yes, my detective friend. I’m relieved to see that my
incompetent contractors did not damage your brain when they invited you to
attend me.”
“Attend…” Dan echoed. What on earth was
happening? He’d been mourning the death of his beloved-but-kooky aunt – no –
he’d been guarding a witness – no wait – he’d been doing both… Was he dreaming
now? “Ow,” Williams slowly intoned as the shadowy, hairless figure harshly
pressed a finger into his temple. Was he hurt? Why did a jab to his head hurt
so much?
“Answer my questions, and then you can
sleep,” the voice pressed. “The courier. By what signal will he be
identified?"
Maybe his head hurt from grief… “Aunt
Clara…”
“Is that a code name?” returned the
voice. “Is it? Is…”
Had Aunt Clara called HPD Dispatch
again?… “No… code name is the Duchess
of…”
“Duchess – of what? Answer me!”
The voice grew more insistent with
another stab of pain to his temple.
A moan preceded Dan’s response.
“Sonder… Sonderbar.”
“Her code name is the Duchess of
Sonderbar?”
“Aunt Clara… poor Aunt Clara…” Dan
softly whispered.
Wo Fat returned to stand next to the
officer. "You will focus on my questions, Williams—"
Another poke to the bloody spot on the
side of the prisoner's head produced a final soft moan from the officer before outside
stimuli were ignored.
Wo Fat's eyebrows shot up towards his
shiny scalp. He sent a glare to the underling with the offensively pink shirt,
an angry concurrent rebuke spilling from his lips in Mandarin before he circled
to the other side of the unconscious man.
“Are you sure you gave him the correct
dosage?"
"Yes, absolutely, Wo Fat,” the
trembling assistant insisted.
The Chinese spy took a single step
backward to better take in the entire scene. "Then WHY is he reacting this
way?"
"Maybe the blow to the head,"
the man offered tentatively. “But he answered you. Sir. The code name is Clara
Sonderbar.”
The Chinese super spy’s attention
shifted back to his sleeping prisoner as he considered another possibility. “Williams.
Clara Williams." He laughed. “Could it be? Could it really be that the old
woman is your aunt?” A toothy grin slipped onto the Oriental features. “Your
dear, dear aunt.”
Wo Fat did not move his head as his
eyes pierced the assistant, and was gratified to see Pink Shirt was still cowering.
No longer angry, but for the sake of form, he blasted the underling for his incompetence
before lighting on the problem at hand again. “I suppose you are going to tell
me that another dose of sodium pentothal would prove unproductive.”
Clearly fearing the reaction his
response would elicit, the shaking man agreed. He offered a hasty explanation
that the prisoner could well have a concussion which made use of the serum
problematic for a period of time at least.
Sore and dazed, Dan had trouble
focusing as he struggled to wake up. He had dreamed of Wo Fat and walking on
the beach with Paddy and now, to add confusion to his disorienting aches and
pains, he was dreaming of Clara. She was calling to him. It magnified his guilt
that he had brushed her off at the airport and not paid her proper attention. Why
was he aching so much? He had a dizzying headache. How could his dream have
such a real hard surface, as if he was lying on a floor? In addition, why did
it smell like Aunt Clara's orchid lei? And Devon Swain's cloying aftershave?
Blinking his eyes open, he squinted, a
bit startled to see looming shadows towering over him. Someone was holding onto
him and it was a comforting embrace. What was going on? His last memory was the
apartment. He had been talking to Doc. No Steve. Both of them. Something
strange had happened though. Men. Breaking into his apartment. He had to tell
Steve…
"Steve?"
"In my dreams," a British
voice purred.
"Jeremy, hush!" came Clara's
impatient reprove. Then gently, "Danny, wake up, honey."
"My back - I think I might have
thrown my back out," another voice moaned.
“Please, everyone,” Clara sniffed.
The absurdity of his delusions reached
the limit and Dan struggled to sit up and blink vision back into his eyes and
clarity to his brain. The firm hand still on his shoulders, he focused on… on…
Clara? There she was, sitting on the floor next to him; wearing the same dress
and orchid lei she had worn yesterday before she departed from the airport --
his life -- this world.
"Clara?"
It wasn't possible, but there she was. He
grabbed onto her hands, arms, and just shook his head. Tears rolled down his
cheeks in spontaneous and effulgent expression of his shock and delight. "You're
alive!” He threw his arms around her and sobbed, feeling her as solid, real and
inexplicably with him again.
"Dear me, he IS emotional,"
Devon Swain observed from close by.
Clara patted his back as if he were a
child. "Oh, Danny, it's all right. Of course, I'm alive. We're all alive. And
all just fine. Whatever is the matter?"
"I always knew the Yanks were an
emotional lot," Jeremy sighed knowingly. “Of course, channeled in the
right direction, that could make for some very well-acted scenes.”
"Jeremy, give the boy a break! He's
had it rough with that maniac Chinaman," Sam Price defended.
A strong hand gripped onto his
shoulder. It was startlingly like something Steve would do. It gave Dan courage
to sit straight and look around, breaking the comforting hugs from his aunt.
"What is going on?" he asked
her in a trembling voice, wiping the still pouring tears from his face to no
avail. "I'm so confused."
“Frankly, we're all a little confused,
Danny,” Sam said from behind Clara.
Williams stared at his aunt. “You were
dead."
"Oh, Danny, I am so sorry. What a
wretched mix up there's been. Why did you think we were dead?"
There was something of an artificial
tone about her -- since he knew her so well he could tell when she was putting
on an act -- and this was one of those instances. Confused and emotionally
shattered, he just shook his head. "You were all supposed to have
died!" he told them, incredulous that it was not the case, happily. Never
had he been so glad to be proven wrong. But how? "The plane crash. Your
charter went down!"
"How dreadful," she returned,
shocked.
"Most distressing, dear boy,"
“What happened? Where have you been?”
Clara put a delicate hand to her chest.
“We’ve been detained by this wretched man –“
“He’s unhinged,” Devon assured. “As mad
as Lear!”
Clara nodded. "When our charter
left the concourse--"
Sam cut in briefly, "Right after
we said our goodbyes to you and Steve."
The elder Williams continued, "The
plane came into the hangar instead of taking off. We were told that there was a
mechanical problem, and that we had to get off."
Alice half whimpered, "Then that
horrible man started asking us questions." She fanned her self with a
handkerchief. “I’m faint. That odious man promised to bring me my migraine
medicine, but never did!”
Dan was visibly appalled. "What on
earth is going on…"
Wo Fat observed the drama through a two
way mirror and pondered the scene. Were they really actors? They did not flinch
during their captivity. Were they innocent? They seemed to be exactly what they
purported to be – a troupe of elderly actors. None had made the slightest slip.
Even with the unexpected twist of Dan Williams’ arrival. Were they bad actors
at the wrong place and the wrong time? Were his informants incorrect? OR were
these senior citizens good actors and spies? Or just one of them?
Wo Fat gave a soft humph. It seemed
every trip to Hawaii brought a new blend of vexation and triumph. So many times
he had been thwarted - he could admit at least to himself - in his plans by the
ever-troublesome Steve McGarrett. Mostly, he - Chinese Super Spy - was the one
victorious in operations here in the US island paradise.
His covert mission now was to intercept
the foreign agent before he -- OR SHE -- reached his -- OR HER -- intended
contact in Asia, and ascertain the identity of the Chinese traitor. He would
then offer a carefully-crafted substitute message for his new courier (who
would obviously have to be up in his -- OR HER -- years) to take back up the
chain of treacherous command, which had somehow taken hold in the highest
echelons in Beijing. If he could infiltrate and topple this cell, his rewards
would be many, and his status greatly increased.
The mission was important, and he had
been asked personally by a person of influence to take on this job. He would
succeed at all costs.
The optimism had not begun thus, certainly,
he grunted and glanced at the side table where a scattering of photos covered
the chipped varnish atop the worn old wood. Pictures taken by his incompetent
operatives, he snorted. Surveillance of the
"And WHY did the plane not crash
in the open ocean!" The Asian spy nearly shouted, reducing Pink Shirt's
height by another three inches. Ignoring
the response, he slowly rubbed his temple. That all of the suspects were old
complicated things. They were delicate and interrogation for the course of the
last day had been necessarily gentle.
Eyeing the actors as they fawned over
the distressed detective, he knew that a suspected spy MIGHT have a member
whose nephew was second-in-command of Hawaii Five-0. On the other hand, maybe
not. Whoever it was, he decided was certainly a good actor. With a slight
smile, he knew his next course of action.
The entire troupe would have to return
with him to Beijing. There he would ferret out the truth with whatever means
were necessary. And the American officer now in his clutches would join them.
He COULD prove to be the leverage that would hasten a final solution. Yes, Wo
Fat would once again be victorious. A side bonus was the eventual pain he would
cause his favorite enemy, McGarrett.
The clang of a metal door startled Dan
and the others. Wo Fat and several henchmen entered the large storage room that
looked to be inside a metal hanger-type building
"Dear, sir," Swain begged the
Chinese spy, "I plead with you, sir, my heart condition --"
"He needs his medicine," Sam
Price came forward in a bold move. "Your treatment of these innocent
people is deplorable. And what have you done with this young man here!"
Wo Fat barely gave him a second glance.
Pink Shirt held a pistol on them and pointed it toward Price, who did not move
from his protective stance.
Dan came to his feet shakily. “You
really hit bottom this time, Wo Fat! Kidnapping a group of elderly people!”
Clara stayed next to Dan. "This is
my nephew! He's a policeman! You will answer for your crimes--"
In a slow move, Wo Fat gave mocking
applause. "I apologize to any of you who truly do not know the reason for
your presence here today."
"Apology NOT accepted!" Dan
snapped.
The Chinese spy snapped his head to
level a steely gaze at the detective while continuing to address the troupe.
"One of you is the contact for a double agent in China. You were to pass a
message to him upon your arrival. It was my mission to stop you before you ever
left this paradise."
There was a collective and theatrical
gasp from the prisoners.
"You are off your rocker, Wo
Fat!" Dan took an unsteady step towards the Chinese spy. "This is my
aunt from New York. These people have been her friends since before I was
born!"
"Spare me, Williams," Wo Fat
dismissed "I will discover which one of you is the courier sent to meet
with the spy in Beijing. I will have the coded message you were to carry to
him. Or I will have your lives. One at a time.”
The cop stared down the spy. "Wo
Fat! You're losing your mind! These are just old actors!" He lunged and
was pinned by two Chinese thugs. “You won’t hurt them! I won’t let you!”
Wo Fat leaned closer to the captive
detective. "It will be my pleasure to use you as an example to all when
the time comes."
Turning sharply, he left the room, and the
henchman, giving Dan a rough push to the floor, followed.
McGarrett's feelers were out to his spy
brotherhood for information on the Manhattan Players and their most recent
enemies. Kaye’s cooperation had been limited, as usual, and the ex-NI operative
preferred finding out from his own methods rather than relying on the
Washington-need-to-know-desk-jockey for the usually incomplete answers.
While those wheels were in motion, he
read over the grim reports of the underwater crash scene. Still no bodies or
personal effects recovered. That rankled him and the FAA man to no end. Mick
Windsor and his team were confused. The head of Five-0 expected an official
request for the state police to investigate later this morning. What else could
they do when faced with such a mystery?
The more he thought about the puzzle,
the more weight he gave to Danno’s theory that Clara did not die in the crash.
Not just Clara, but her whole group! Where were they? What happened to the
luggage? The only bodies recovered belonged to the pilot and co-pilot.
The remaining detectives of Five-0 were
called back to the office late in the night. By the time Kelly and Lukela were
gathered McGarrett was finished with his self-berating that had echoed his
thoughts since leaving Williams’ apartment. The hours had been a terrible
mixture of tension, anguish and distortion, all swirling around Danno. There
had been little chance to think clearly for anyone on staff, but Steve did not
accept that as a valid excuse. Despite his concern for Danno, he should have
been more vigilant about Sanders and his thugs. Sanders was after Ray Padilla –
AKA Paddy – and Aunt Clara’s death and mysterious past and Danno’s mourning
extremes had gotten in the way of the simple case. Protect Paddy! So instead of
accomplishing his main objective as a cop, then as a friend, McGarrett had
allowed Sanders’ muscle men to kidnap his detective in place of the whistle-blower
witness!
Lukela walked into the office carrying
a coffee cup and a note. The officer placed the mug on McGarrett’s desk and
moved over to the lanai to open the blinds. Motions that were too reminiscent
of Williams’ usual functions. McGarrett felt the growl of displeasure at life
gurgle in his throat.
The chief was startled when the bright
morning rays of the fresh Hawaiian sun bust into the room nearly blinding him.
He blinked, rubbing his eyes. “Morning already?” It was a depressing thought.
There had been little progress all night. Informants and possible leads tracked
down to no avail. Sanders had been dragged into the office in the wee hours of
the morning, but there was nothing to hold him on and of course he did not
crack open with any information on Danno.
“Got something weird going on, Steve.”
The detective consulted his scribbles on his piece of paper. “Sanders’ two
bodyguards, Tanner and Green, they’ve been noticed around town all night. They’re
still looking for Paddy.”
McGarrett rubbed his face trying to
grind the fatigue from his brain as fingers scraped at the thick overnight
stubble. The thugs who grabbed Danno were still out looking for Paddy. In night
raids last night McGarrett and HPD had stormed every property owned by Sanders.
No Danno. No van. Where were they hiding Williams? Sanders and his henchmen
could not be held on anything, but McGarrett had arranged a bad night for all
concerned until they were sprung by lawyers.
Duke was not looking that well. He
probably shouldn’t be back to work full time let alone pulling an all-nighter
after his hit on the head last week. This would all work out, he told himself.
It had to. They would get Danno back in one piece and Duke could go home and
get some rest.
He stood and stretched, pacing around
the desk. He ran fingers through his hair as he thought. “Any more on the
kidnapper’s vehicle?”
Chin entered then with a piece of paper
and handed it to McGarrett. “An artist’s sketch of the sign on the side of the
van.” Steps behind the Chinese detective was Paddy, holding a plate of
breakfast rolls.
Steve had forgotten the janitor – the
eye of the hurricane in this storm of crime – was still under the literal
shadow of protection of the state police. There had been no time to deal with a
safe house and a haven for the witness after Danno had been kidnapped. Steve
really had to delegate that to someone.
Paddy took one of the rolls and munched
on it while he used the cloth perpetually stuffed in a back pocket to dust off
the side table.
McGarrett studied the picture of a
Hawaiian cartoon pail draped with a lei. A strange logo to connect with
Sanders.
“Hey, that’s Aloha Cleaners!”
McGarrett stared at Paddy for a moment,
then to the picture, then back to the little man. “A company connected to
Sanders?”
“Not that I know of. They done work at
the big hotels and government places. I seen ‘em. Like their methods. They have
their headquarters out at the airport.”
Airport. Another eye of the hurricane
in this whole, twisted drama. McGarrett was already on his way out the door, grabbing
his jacket on the way out. “Let’s go!”
Loud voices woke Williams. He blinked, and
realized with some measure of embarrassment, that he had drifted off to sleep
even in the face of being shanghaied
to China. He focused
on Wo Fat snarling at Sam Price. The words were sharp, nasty, and threatening. The
Communist was still hell bent on making a spy of one of the elderly actors.
Vision swimming, Williams wobbled to
his feet and protectively took a stand in front of his aunt and the others. The
officer tried to look like a threat, but knew he was barely able to stay on his
feet.
"They're harmless old people,” he tiredly
repeated, squeezing his eyes shut to concentrate.
“Williams, perhaps you have missed your
calling as an actor. I have investigated their exploits. I have done my
homework on this unique group. They harbor a spy who will contact the mole in
China." He turned to Clara. “Confess and I will allow your nephew to go
free. Whoever is the spy can come to me with the truth.”
“Confess?” she gave a poised, dramatic
stance. “I confess."
Dan gasped. The others, even Wo Fat,
were frozen in place.
“I confess that I have never faced such
a torturous villain as black as you in all my years. Except Rathbone’s version
of Iago. Basil Rathbone, of course –“
“Enough!” Wo Fat snarled. After a
moment he made a visible effort to compose his temper. “Do you want to see real
torture?”
“Don’t you dare!” Dan threatened, and
lunged forward, but was stopped by Wo Fat’s men.
“Torture,” Wo Fat scoffed. “Nothing so
crude." He offered a slight bow to the Players. “I respect you. I honor
your brilliant and undetected career. I feel flattered to have been the one to
break your cover.” Then Wo Fat tossed a glance at Dan. “Now the detective here
-- he knows much, dear lady, but more than anything, he is valuable for who he
is. Not a spy by profession, but his worth is personal. In his role as a valued
friend.”
Slowly, he turned and looked into Dan's
eyes and smiled. The expression was shark-like in its predatory lust for blood.
“He is the loyal dog of my mortal enemy.” Wo Fat pinched Dan’s chin until the
officer managed to pull away with a gasp. “Be assured, once we are in China,
your master will receive detailed accounts of your miserable life in Beijing.”
“At least you won’t have him, will you?
You’ve failed again –“
The punch rocked Williams so hard he
sagged and would have dropped to the floor except for his captors’ holds. The
elderly actors cowered, some crying out. Clara tried to reach her relation but
Wo Fat took her by the arm and pulled her away.
Voice tremulous, Clara told him, “There
has been a ghastly mistake! Please, let us leave and we can straighten this all
out. Talk to your information men or whatever you call them and get to the
truth!”
“To stall? To buy time for a dramatic,
third act rescue? That will not happen, madam.”
The evil grin was too much and Dan fought
vainly for his freedom. Wo Fat knew how to inflict pain, how to get to Steve
all too well. He had done it before, making his friend believe he had been
murdered. {fanfic – CHECK AND CHECKMATE} Was
he going to go through that charade again – making Steve think Dan had been
killed? Then at some future time Wo Fat would let it slip that he was alive and
being held as a prisoner in China – just to twist the knife in Steve’s gut. Too
cruel.
Dan stood on his own, shrugging away
from the thugs. Wo Fat leaned over the little old woman whom he held in his
clutches. One more demand for a confession. When Wo Fat threatened the cowering
Alice, too, Dan acted. He dashed over and managed to shove the spy away, but
that was as far as he made it.
The thugs were on him again, tackling
him to the ground. He felt the disheartening cold steel of handcuffs on his
wrists and the unique metal click that finalized imprisonment. Dragged to his
feet again, he was forced to face his enemy eye to eye.
“Keep him bound." The words were
clipped, vicious. They were addressed to the Chinese men, but the fire in the
dark eyes was solely for the detective. “I don’t want to find he has broken
free and done something heroic at the last minute before our transportation
home arrives!”
When they reached the airport Chin Ho reported
HPD officers had already found the suspect vehicle from the kidnapping. Fender
damage and a cracked windshield was enough to ground all of Aloha Cleaner’s
vans. There was no sign of Danno or anyone fitting the description of his
abductors.
What the Five-0 chief found surpassing coincidence
was that the warehouse was next to the charter airline terminal. Knowing the
FAA had already been to Archer Air, McGarrett wasn't sure what he could find there,
but crossed to the hangars anyway.
As a courtesy, in the spirit of sharing
information, Chin notified his friend Mick of their mission. Windsor met McGarrett
at the Archer hangar where the charter jets were under inspection. The doomed
pilot had suspected a problem with oil pressure and all the jets were now under
scrutiny.
After the fact, what good would this do
Steve? What happened to the passengers? Why the crash? Mick had not flatly discounted
the theory of sabotage, but was objective enough to state he would wait to form
theories until he had all the facts. He would have made an excellent detective,
and in fact, was, just not the criminal justice kind.
Pausing at the coffee lounge where
chairs, drinks, snacks and magazines were available for customers, McGarrett
paced while awaiting
So when the plane came in here to be
checked, the actors deplaned. And re-boarded? Or not. The delay was the perfect
time to snatch the actors, maybe all of them. Why? Someone was onto them that
they were spies? Had they switched planes? A slight of hand trick right under
the noses of everyone at the airport! That would take a mastermind. Someone
with massive resources, cunning, daring, and ruthless.
Thanking Windsor, McGarrett hurried
outside to radio the Palace. They would have to get the times of flights
immediately before the crash. They would scan the ones headed to
Next door, the big hangar door for
China Air slowly opened. A small tow vehicle
zipped inside and moments later
returned with the airplane hooked behind. The jet seemed the exact match of the
Archer Air fleet.
Inside his brain alarm bells were
ringing. McGarrett watched as the plane pulled out into the brilliance of the
Hawaiian morning sun. He stared at the sleek lines of the charter. His breath
caught when he thought he caught a glimpse of a familiar curly head at a window
toward the front! Jumping into his car he revved the engine and headed toward
the plane.
Theories of switchings and kidnappings
and conspiracy spy plots zipped through his brain in nano-seconds. Without a
second thought McGarrett deliberately rammed his Five-0 sedan into the front
wheels of the plane. Even at the low speed the crash jarred him and he stumbled
out of the door, falling to the concrete tarmac. The second state police
officer to wreck a car that morning.
Jaggedly running toward the stopped jet,
he jumped back when the cockpit hatch popped open and an emergency slide
ejected, flopping to the ground. He was more surprised when a Chinese man
waving a gun, followed by several of the elderly Manhattan Players, slid down
the chute.
Chin, Duke and several other officers
were there to assist, and arrest the armed criminal. No odor of leaking fuel,
and the landing gear was a mess, but the rest of the plane seemed intact. With
the help of officers he wheeled a set of stairs over to the hatch that was now
opening.
Racing up the metal steps, he stopped
for only a moment when he saw Clara Williams standing in the doorway. Running
the rest of the way he took her by the arms.
“You’re alive!" His voice was
shaky and more emotional than he thought he would feel. He was trembling. Part
of that was relief. Part of it was dread, not knowing what had happened to his
friend.
“Danno?”
“He’s inside, and completely drugged,”
Clara announced shakily.
McGarrett dashed inside realizing he
had not asked anything more. He didn’t have time to waste on words. Whatever
shape his friend was in, he just needed to know. Right now!
At the sight of his friend slumped in a
seat, his heart leapt to his throat. Steve sighed with painful relief that
Danno was there, rumpled and scraped, but breathing. Pressing his hand to
Williams' neck, he was reassured to feel the steady, if slow beat that proved
his friend was alive.
Without waiting, he grabbed Dan and
pulled him up, too impatient for the medical personnel to assist. Outside, Chin
and an attendant helped him place the unconscious detective on a gurney.
As McGarrett watched the ambulance
drive away, he took a moment to settle his nerves. Danno and Clara were alive
and that was the greatest fear allayed. Clara was hovering next to him.
Without turning he told her, “I know
who you are. We have a mutual acquaintance in Jonathan Kaye.”
He glanced over to catch her look. One
that acknowledged his statement with a quirky expression. A rare, unguarded
moment when she was not acting.
“Oh. I see.”
“Yes. So do I." He gave her a nod.
“And you’ve never been given just credit. You’re the best actress I’ve ever
seen.”
The cherubic smile was what he
remembered most about the plucky old lady. He felt privileged to be among her
favored circle of family.
“I’ve met another of your acquaintances
too. A nasty Chinese man.”
Cold from the inside out, McGarrett
could hardly speak the name. “Wo Fat.”
“Yes. He wasn’t with us on the plane. I
don’t know where he went. He has a very large grudge against you.”
And he had taken it out on Danno. McGarrett
clenched his fists to channel the rage. If anything had happened to Danno or
his aunt because of his old enemy – well – well – he never would have forgiven
himself.
Gently, he took Clara by the arm and
commandeered a patrolman to drive them to the hospital. The Williams’ were
alive. Wo Fat, though, curse him, was still adept at escapes. If only he would
have connected this masterful, intricate plot with the Chinese devil! But would
it have changed anything? Would he have found the mastermind?
Steve had little hope of capturing the
spy. He would keep a tight lid on the airport and docks, but the old master
magician had managed another slick slight-of-hand ploy. Distracted by his
desire to find his friend, McGarrett allowed that mission to be his priority.
He was not sorry. He would rather have a live-and-well Danno and Clara than a
captive Wo Fat any day. Someday, though, the tables were going to turn and he
would have that nasty fat spy in hand. Someday.
“Relax,” McGarrett advised, placing a
strong hold on the back of Williams’ hand.
The drumming fingers stilled under the
press of support.
“We haven’t had a chance to talk yet,”
Williams countered, gazing out the open passenger window as the Mercury cruised
up the curved road and through the tunnel into the center of Diamond Head
crater. “Really talk. And there’s not much time. As usual.”
It was an echo of the ride days ago
when he had been preoccupied with Paddy’s safety and rushed through the meeting
with Clara. Still struggling with some of those same feelings of irritation and
inadequacy with his Aunt, the younger detective felt his anxiety grow the
closer they came to their destination.
Aunt Clara had dropped by his private
hospital room to check on his recovery from the drugs administered by Wo Fat.
It had been brief, superficial moments with Devon Swain, Doc Bergman and
McGarrett present. There had been no chance for personal sentiments.
Now, approaching another good-bye all
too reminiscent of their stilted and awkward farewell at the airport days ago,
Williams brooded on what he needed to say and what he might not be courageous
enough to admit in this bittersweet aloha.
McGarrett stopped the car at the
entrance to the Fort Ruger National Guard gate within the extinct volcano of
Diamond Head. His credentials were perused by two beefy MPs way too well armed
for the casual façade of the facility. The car rolled into a tunnel where the
Five-0 detectives caught a golf cart that drove them through opened security
blast doors and into a sleek, steel-bored passage to the ultra-top security
base secreted under the mountain.
Dan had been here before, but never for
something so personally difficult as this. Catching spies and cracking plots
with mastermind enemies seemed easier than this heart-to-heart with Clara. It
didn’t make it easier that he was still coming to grips with the truth about
her past. He never guessed the talented thespian and her wacky cronies were
also spies for the
At least everything had worked out with
Paddy. He was secure at a safe house. Manicote had taken the sworn deposition,
and Sanders was in jail. After the trial, the little whistle-blower would
receive a protected identity and leave janitorial work to others while he took
up a new life in a new place.
The golf cart stopped and they entered
through parted metal doors into a reception area. Jonathan Kaye, the thin
craggy-faced, gray-haired government spook met them with handshakes.
“She’s waiting for you in there, Danny."
His smile was unusually warm for the spy master.
It took a lot not to blast Kaye with
his anger. Kaye had kept Clara’s secret from him even after all the years they
had worked together. When it looked like Clara and her friends were dead, Kaye
said nothing about the dangerous, clandestine operation the Players were
running. After all the grief and tragedy, Kaye’s minions had covered up the
crash, claiming a clerical error about the Archer Air plane going down. It had
been a training plane with only a flight crew that went into the bay and they
had miraculously survived. The Manhattan Players were already safely in
Stepping alone into the next room he
wasn’t sure what to expect, but was relieved that only Clara was in a
comfortably furnished sitting room, sipping tea and reading a magazine. When he
entered, she scurried over and gave him a firm hug.
“Danny, I’m so glad you’re feeling
better. Your color is much better. I told that Doctor Bergman to give you a
little brandy in your coffee. Always perks up the nerves. He didn’t seem to
like my interference.”
“No, I bet he didn’t.”
She ushered him to the chair next to
hers. For a moment she stared into his eyes and he was gratified to see clear
honesty there. No subterfuge, no fear, no doubts.
“You have a lot of questions and I want
to tell you all you want to know before I leave.”
The meeting place clued him in that
this would not be a leisurely visit. She was not on holiday. She was still
under the payroll of the government, and had a cover to maintain. He understood
all that on a professional level but still had a hard time connecting it to his
elderly Aunt Clara.
“How soon do you have to go?”
“Oh, we have a little time. Where would
you like to start?”
Good question. Faced with the interview
he had been hoping for – the talk he had wanted to correct since he heard the
news of the downed plan – he didn’t know where to commence.
“I don’t know.”
She took his hand in both of hers.
“Let’s start at the beginning then.”
World War Two was where it all started
for her and her late husband, Dan’s Uncle Mike. Attached to the diplomatic
corps in
After Nineteen Forty-five the couple
continued their government work during the Cold War era. When Mike died, Clara
continued, shifting her cover to the Players and the group of former spies she
had worked with for years. James, still disapproving of the lifestyle, refused
to allow Danny much contact with Clara.
When James died, Clara tried to step
into the shoes of the guardian uncle but it had not worked. Danny was too
headstrong, which he ruefully agreed, and she was still committed to a life of
espionage.
“After I started working for Five-0,
you never said anything!” he finally reproached. “We’ve fought Wo Fat for
years!”
“Which I did not know. The left hand
not knowing about the right hand, you know.”
“Yeah.” He was all too familiar with
the blind corners of covert ops. There was a strained silence before he
generated the courage to discuss what he wanted to say – what he needed to say
long before this horrible episode. “Aunt Clara, when I thought you were dead –“
“Don’t mention it –“
“I have to. I felt so guilty about the
way I treated you at the airport –“
“There is no need –“
“Yes, there is,” he firmly corrected.
“Aunt Clara, I love you. You’re my only relation. And I’ve treated you – and
your kooky friends – pretty badly in the past.”
“The past is the past, honey,” she
assured, patting his hand. “Water under the bridge.” Her pixie smile lit up her
eyes. “You wouldn’t have wanted to know about my secret missions any more than
I probably want to hear about yours.
Hmm, that was probably true. By nature
a forgiving person, Dan found it easy to go along with her attitude of letting
bygones be bygones. It wasn’t so easy to include Kaye in that category, but he
would work on that later. For now, Clara’s wisdom was worth following. They
spent little time together and they needed to make the best of the present and
not worry about the past.
“I wish you could spend more time in
the islands, Aunt Clara. I think you’d like it here.”
Her cherubic grin was challenging. “And
give up the stage?”
“They have theater here,” he countered
lightly, then he sobered. “It would make me sleep better if I knew you were
safe. And doing real plays instead of playing the spy.”
“Isn’t it all the same, dear?”
“No. I know what goes on in the
espionage world, remember?”
Her expression turned to dismay, then
settled on reflective. “Your Uncle Mike and I had a wonderful life. I wish you
could have known him. But our duty to the government kept us from being a close
family. I regret that, but I know what we did in the war, and afterwards, was
valuable. I still have that desire to serve my country in whatever capacity I
can. And it keeps me young. Gives me purpose." She gave him a wink. “I
think I know a workaholic nephew and his friend who can understand that.”
How was it she could always pin him
down exactly where she wanted him? With irrefutable logic, too. Kind of like
Steve.
“You win,” he conceded. He matched her
grin, unable to resist her triumphant expression.
“And
cheer up, Danny, I’ll do what I can to get back here to Hawaii more often."
Her face took on a dreamy, far-away look. “Maybe we can work together again
sometime.”
Almost
choking, Dan coughed out a denial that he never wanted to go through that again.
His nerves couldn’t take it.
The
journey back to the Palace had been spent in predominant silence. There was a
lot to think about from the past few days. The majority of the conversation had
been spent in debate on Dan’s return to light duty and what constituted the
definition of ‘light’. McGarrett and Williams were poles apart on compromising
on the specifics. The boss did agree the second-in-command could return to the
office for a limited time to straighten out neglected paperwork that had piled
up over the past few turbulent days.
Williams
felt nervous as the big Mercury cruised through the front entrance of the
Palace and came to a jolting stop in the usual parking space. The last time he
had been here was in the highly emotional moments of his meltdown. He had not
been himself; grief and pain pushing him beyond rationality.
Not
surprisingly, McGarrett seemed to pick up on the mood. He paused before he
opened his door. Staring at Williams for a moment, he asked, “Are you ready for
this?”
“Yeah,”
came the answer like a shot.
A shadow
of a smile twitched at the corner of the boss’ mouth. “Doc Bergman would be
happier with both of us if you took a few days off –“
“No,
no, I’m fine.”
With
an uncertain nod McGarrett accepted. His pace was measured and unreasonably
calm – a departure from his usual race up the stairs – a concession to Dan’s
recovering constitution. At the Five-0 office door, McGarrett opened it and
barreled through as he had hundreds of times, with Williams right behind.
Tense,
Dan didn’t know what to expect. When Jenny turned from the coffee stand and
spotted them, she set the tone when she ran to him and gave him a quick hug.
“I’m
so glad everything worked out, Danny.”
Chin
was suddenly behind him out of nowhere. “You called it right all the way,
bruddah. Your aunt was alive the whole time.”
“Good
work,” Duke said when he came out of his office and patted Dan on the arm. “What
a miracle.”
“Yeah,”
Dan agreed. He noted Steve standing back observing, a grin on his face. He gave
an almost imperceptible nod of approval.
Everything
was back on course. His friends, as always, were with him no matter what. His
big brother acted like he had done something great when in reality Dan had
completely unraveled. Well, that was how it was in his ohana. Another miracle
had come to pass in his life. Sometimes he worried if he was due to run out of
those. He hoped not. Five-0 seemed to require them on a regular basis.
After
the tragedy and crisis in the third act, here was the happy ending. All was
well. Happily ever after. At least until the next catastrophe.
A
detailed story of the miracle of Archer Air was front page news on every paper
in the Pacific Rim. Even the Chinese language prints covered the sensational
tale of a colossal mistake for the Manhattan Players. Their tour of China was
now bigger than ever. The Minister of Arts – that old windbag – would attend
their premier performance.
Wo
Fat folded the Hong Kong paper and placed it on the table next to his tea tray.
Stretching out, sipping his strong Oolong, he gazed out at the tranquil channel
visible from his charming gazebo. There was no mention of McGarrett or Williams
by the media. The touching reunion of local cop and famous aunt would have been
the purview of the Hawaiian press. On this side of the ocean all eyes were on
the Chinese connection.
With
a nudge of his spoon the paper was shoved farther away. No one would ever
connect the small obituary of a Hong Kong stage hand – the dreadful informant
who had told his minions the actors were spies! -- with the espionage drama
enacted in an international forum.
Staring
at the photo of Clara Williams and her band of players he scoffed. “Honors to
the Manhattan Players. You are fine actors -- better than I would have ever
guessed. Applause, applause." With an angry swipe of his hand he flicked
the paper off the table, startling the little birds pecking for crumbs at the
edge of the garden. “And we will meet again, Stephen McGarrett. Of that I
promise you.”
In
other words –
