The Female Of The Species
By
RATED PG-14
For violence
and intensity
Vengeance would be
hers at last. He had destroyed her
family, her life. Killed her son. He would pay.
He would pay.
The men sitting in
the front seats of her car were growing impatient. No one likes waiting at the side of a
desolate road at two-fifteen AM for a man who may or may not travel this way
tonight. This was the third night they
had waited here. No matter. The men were being well paid for their
boredom.
The car radio
crackled into life. "He's coming
your way. He's about fifteen minutes
away."
The men
straightened expectantly. "About
time. Now for some action."
They made to exit
the car, but she stopped them. "Wait. We have time.
I will not take the chance that someone else may come along this road
even at this hour. You will overturn the
car in exactly ten minutes. Make it look
good. Break some glass."
She checked her
make-up again. That also had to look
good. Not too much
blood. He was not stupid.
Eleven minutes
later, she took her place. She heard his
car approaching. She began to stagger
away from the overturned vehicle along the middle of the road. As his headlights caught her, she waved her
arms. The waiting was over.
***************************************************************
Pain. That all too familiar, all encompassing pain threatened to engulf
his return to consciousness once more.
He fought against it. He must not
give in to the torrid, throbbing agony again.
He had to retain some semblance of sanity, some coherence of thought
beyond the unendurable torment if he was to survive this and escape.
A groan escaped
him as he held on. For now, he succeeded
in staying conscious. For
now. That last beating had been
severe. Pain seemed to emanate from
every part of his body, but there were localised areas of greater
intensity. He tried to focus his
attention to ascertain the damage.
Slowly, very slowly he moved his left hand across his chest. At least two ribs were broken. Damn!
Escape was becoming ever more impossible.
His right arm was,
of course, useless. Not much you can do
with it after someone puts a bullet through your hand. Deliberately.
He recalled the evil satisfaction in her eyes as she coolly put the gun
barrel into his palm and pulled the trigger.
The agony, still apparent, as the bullet smashed through flesh and bone,
he would never forget. At least he'd had
the awareness to open his clenched fist and spread his fingers seconds before
she fired or he would be missing a digit or two now.
He looked down
towards his hand, half-afraid of what he would see, but was stunned to see his
hand had been bound in a professional looking bandage while he was out
cold. He hadn't even noticed the bandage
before seeing it, it certainly hadn't lessened the pain any. She must have been serious about her desire
to keep him alive, although he doubted this was her handiwork. His hand didn't even seem to be bleeding now
though this was small comfort as he tried to calm his breathing to control his
searing nerves.
He closed his
eyes, willing himself to use every ounce of strength left to fight the
agony. After a while, he gained a
measure of satisfaction. The pain hadn't
dimmed, but he was able to stay awake in spite of it. Good.
Progress of a sort. Thinking was
the first step to formulating a plan.
Carrying out any plan was another matter. For now, just staying awake was enough.
*****************************************************************
The cold, hard,
stone floor barely registered beneath his bare back. He could feel nothing beyond his
injuries. This was getting him
nowhere. He tried to open his eyes. The right eye was now swollen shut, but the
left eye was functioning and he used it to scan the room. Windowless, featureless. Well lit by a stark fluorescent tube in the
centre of the high ceiling. No
furniture, not any more. Nothing he
could use as weapon or a tool.
He didn't even
have his shoes. Her goons had made him
change into a pair of shorts and then taken his clothes away. They were taking no chances. It also made it easier for her to see his
injuries. She'd laughed when she told
him that. He wasn't handcuffed or
bound. There was no need, he thought
grimly. In his present condition, he
wasn't going anywhere.
The walls were
white except where his blood had spattered.
His eye fixed for a long moment on the largest area of dark stain. His hand seemed to throb ever more intensely
as the memory resurfaced. "You killed my son with this hand,"
she had told him, "now I'm going to
punish you for it". He
shuddered at the memory of the noise of the gunshot, the shock of seeing his
hand perforated and bloody and the sound of his own scream.
His breathing had
become ragged again and his ribs protested.
He thought he would pass out again.
He tore his gaze from that spot and looked instead at the camera fixed
high on the wall in one corner of the room.
Was she watching his suffering for sadistic pleasure, or to inspect for
any more escape attempts?
Across the room,
opposite the camera was a doorway leading to the small bathroom. Nothing of use for escaping
in there, either. Just a lavatory
and a small sink. At least he could keep
his wounds clean. She didn't intend him
to die from infection. She had told him
as much. She wanted him alive and
suffering for a very long time. He had
no doubt she was capable achieving this.
Another spasm of
pain from his broken ribs forced a gasp from his lips and the black mist
descended once more.
******************************************************************
"You look
like Hell." Duke offered a mug of
coffee to the exhausted man sitting in front of him. Eight AM and the sun was streaming through
the lanai windows of the office of the head of Five-O.
The desk, usually
immaculate with neat "in" and "out" trays, pens in holders
standing to attention in a row along the front, phone, blotter and files
arranged with military precision, now bore testimony to the frenetic activity
of the last couple of days. Photographs
of a scenic location and a set of tire tracks were strewn haphazardly along
with discarded HPD reports. Foil
take-out food cartons, some empty, some still containing the cold, stale
remains of a half-eaten meal lay surrounded by dirty coffee mugs completing the
disarray.
Beyond the office,
another glorious day was beginning in
"You're not
helping anyone like this. You need
sleep. You won't find out what happened --"
"That's
enough, Duke." The expected rebuff
was insistent and uncompromising.
"I have to
keep going. The answer's out there. I have to find it and soon. Anything could have happened to him. HPD may have found his car, but there was no
body. The coastguards haven't found a
body, and they won't. He didn't go over
that cliff.
Anyway, what about
that call to HPD about an accident? How
do you explain that? It doesn't make sense;
HPD couldn't find any sign of an accident besides a few shards of broken glass
and no sign of an injured woman. He's
been taken, Duke. Someone took Steve the
night before last, and I have to find out who and where he is."
*******************************************************************
How had he been
taken so easily? As he struggled to
focus on something other than the pain, Steve's mind went back over his
capture. She had watched him, studied
his habits, there was no doubt about that.
She knew he had a tendency to work late, alone. Leaving alone, unseen by others, tired,
vulnerable.
Had tiredness caused
him to let his guard down? Maybe, but
she was smart, knew what he would do.
How had she known what time he had left the Palace, and which route he
had taken? He wasn't so tired he hadn't
checked in case he was followed. He'd
been caught out that way before. And he
varied his route every few days. So she
had to have someone watching the Palace.
Someone who radioed her when he left and which direction he was taking? Maybe more than one someone. There were enough goons around here doing her
bidding for more than one to have tailed him, each dropping off so as not to
arouse suspicion and letting the next one take his place. It was a trick Five-O routinely employed and
it worked.
The trap was
simplicity itself. A car overturned to
look like an accident, on a lonely stretch of road, near his beach house. A woman, covered in "blood"
standing in the road, waving her arms to get attention. She was a great actress, he had to give her
that. And daring. She must have known he would radio for help and
that police units and an ambulance would be speeding towards them within
minutes. The takedown had to be precise
and efficient. It had been.
He'd slammed the
Mercury to a halt, radioed a terse message to the HPD switchboard for an
ambulance, HPD unit and the fire department.
Within seconds, he was sprinting towards the distraught, bloody woman
now crumpled into a heap in the middle of the road. As he had knelt beside her, he barely had
time to recognise the deception, before she fired a tranquillizer dart into his
chest. He was unconscious before he hit
the ground.
*******************************************************************
"Whaddawegot
Chin?"
Chin Ho Kelly
looked up from the road as Danny Williams approached. He noted the unconscious way Danny was
adopting some of Steve's mannerisms. It
would have been funny if it weren’t for the tragic circumstances. The younger detective looked worn out, lines
of worry etched on his face. Chin hoped
they would not become a permanent feature.
"Same as
yesterday, Danny, and the day before.
Absolutely nothing. HPD logged
Steve's call, but when they got here, there was no sign of Steve, or a woman,
or any other car. Steve's car was empty,
there were just these tire tracks. He
must have stopped in one big hurry, bruddah to make those marks. Maybe there was a struggle, you know, maybe
she thought he was attacking her or something or maybe she was a hophead. They could have gone over the
cliff............." He let his words trail off, not wanting to make the
inevitable conclusion- if Steve and the mysterious woman had gone over the
cliff, neither would have survived, their bodies would have been washed out to
sea and might never be recovered.
Danny walked to
the edge of the cliff and looked over.
Fifty feet. Refusing to admit the
truth, he told himself it was survivable.
If Steve had somehow avoided hitting the cliff-face or any of the rocks
beneath the surface. He stared up and
down the coastline. Large rocks littered
the beaches to either side. It would
take a miracle for anyone to survive that drop, especially at night. Still, he clung to the hope. Steve had survived against the odds before.
"He could
have survived, injured maybe, but alive.
I want to search these beaches again."
Chin
protested. "Danny, we've spent two
days combing those beaches, don't you think we would have found him? Divers have checked the
rocks, he's not there. You've spent two days tearing up nearly every
beach on this island, you've checked every hospital a dozen times, and you have
to trust other people to do their jobs.
You don't have to do everything yourself, you know. Why don't you go back to the Palace and stay
there a while? Or go home, and get some
rest. Maybe if you give yourself time to
think, something new will come to you."
The advice was
kindly meant, but Chin knew Danny could be as stubborn as Steve sometimes and
he was going to find it hard to let go.
Unless they found the body. He
let out a sigh and reached for his pipe.
He was going to need plenty tobacco on this investigation.
"OK, Danny,
I'll see to it. Get the chopper out here
again too, you never know." He laid
a comforting hand on Danny's shoulder before turning back towards his car to issue
the new instructions.
Danny stared out
to sea. He was exhausted and frustrated
by all this. "Where are you,
Steve?" he muttered. He received no
answer.
*****************************************************************
Numbed from pain,
his mind wandered.
"Where are
you, Danno? What are you doing? What are you thinking?" Steve's thoughts turned increasingly towards
his younger second in command. What had
become of his car? And what leads, if
any, were there were for his team to follow?
Steve didn't know, but if anyone could find him, it would be Danno.
After he had been
hit with the tranquillizer, he had known nothing until he awoke in this
room. With her. She'd been waiting for him. She enjoyed gloating over her success. He felt groggy when he came to, his thought
processes slowed by the drug only gradually clearing from his system.
He stood
carefully, swaying lightly, and studied her, his detective instincts taking
over. The face before him was vaguely
familiar, but he was unable to place it.
An elegant woman in her late forties, she had figured in a case from the
past, he was sure. Younger, she must
have been quite stunning, tall with strong features. Her grey-flecked hair was pulled back
severely from her face. Her eyes gripped
him. Cold, dark, they pierced his soul. There was intense hurt in those eyes, a hurt
from way back. And evil.
He dredged his
memory, desperate to place her. It had
to be through a case with Five-O, he was certain he'd never met this lady
socially. She was dressed casually
enough in slacks and a blouse, but those simple clothes had not been bought in
any shopping mall. They had been
tailor-made to fit her frame perfectly.
Her make-up was immaculate, if slightly over-done, and her perfume was
expensive.
She waited for his
senses to recover fully. Steve used the
time to look beyond her. Two thugs stood
further back, one on either side of her.
Both were over six feet tall, broad and muscular. One had a moustache, the other a scar across
his left cheek. Neither was employed for
his intelligence.
A Neanderthal
stood by the door with a powerful shotgun in his hands. This wasn't going to one of Steve's better
days. He wouldn't walk out of this one
easily. None of the men were known to
Steve, but he would lay odds they all had criminal records somewhere. And not for petty crimes, either. These men were used to violence. It wasn't looking too clever.
The woman tapped
her foot impatiently. Steve looked at
her again. Wealthy, resourceful- you
don't walk into any gun shop and buy tranquillizer darts. From a previous case he'd dealt with. Had to be big, a major criminal, but not
her. She wore a wedding ring. A wife?
"Well?"
her harsh voice mirrored the cold intent in her eyes.
"It's been a
long time, Mrs. Vashon."
********************************************************************
Danny surveyed the
empty patch of road again. Nothing. The few broken pieces of glass had been
removed to Che Fong's lab, now there was nothing at all to indicate an accident
or a struggle had taken place here. Yet
Danny was convinced that something had happened. Steve gave this location in his last, brief
message to HPD. He said a car had
overturned, a woman was hurt and he needed backup, ambulance and the fire
department. When they had arrived, there
was no sign of an accident, no woman and no Steve McGarrett.
The HPD officer attending had the sense to
call Danny Williams at his home, wake him up and tell him what was
happening. Danny had raced to the scene
of course and organized a search, but to no avail.
All they had found
was some broken glass, which may or may not have anything to do with this, and
some dark stains on the road. And Steve's empty car. The glass had gone now, and the stains had
been washed away by the rain so that the scenery was as peaceful as it had ever
been. Yet it held onto a secret. Something awful, dangerous had happened here. He stopped short of
thinking 'fatal'.
It made sense for
Steve to be here at that time of night.
He had been working late most nights recently tying up the ends of a
complex case of fraud involving one of Hawaii's top bank employees. The paperwork had been horrendous and Danny,
Chin and Duke were all quietly grateful that Steve had taken on the onerous
task himself. Not for the first time in
the past couple of days, Danny found himself wishing he had been more
vociferous in his offers to help.
Who was the woman
who had needed Steve's help that night?
Had someone been waiting at the side of the road- someone who had
slugged Steve, perhaps, and taken both him and the woman away? No, that wouldn't work. What had happened to the accident car? Nowhere to get rid of it nearby. It would have to have been driven or towed
away. That meant at least two people
hiding in the bushes, as it would take at least two men to overturn and then
right a car.
So the accident
was not genuine, it must have been a fake, to lure Steve out of his own
car. Then the woman would have to be in
on it too. As his thoughts became
clearer, Danny was more convinced than ever that he was on the right
track. Steve had not gone over the
cliff. He had been on his way home to
his beach house for the night. There had
been some kind of trap, and Steve had been abducted. Taken by force, even though there was no sign
of a struggle, beyond the stains on the road that had looked like blood
initially but had turned out not to be.
Satisfied he could
learn no more here, Danny walked back to his LTD and headed towards Che's lab.
********************************************************************
The realization of
whom he was dealing with, hit Steve like a sledgehammer in the pit of his
stomach. With Vashon's resources behind
her, the outlook was bleak indeed. Yet
he still didn't know what this woman wanted, what drove her to this course of
action. What did she expect to
achieve? Honore was locked up, sure, and
maybe she expected to use Steve to break him out, but Honore was now certified
insane. What good would it do her to
have him out? She didn't keep him
guessing for long.
"Well, it
took you long enough. Yes, I am Mrs. Vashon. Mrs Marguerite Vashon, but you look so
surprised. Didn't think a woman could
outsmart the Great Steve McGarrett of Five-O?"
She would have
continued, but Steve interrupted her flow.
He hated it when anyone suggested he thought women less smart than men.
"I'm
surprised a lady of your intelligence and class would be so dumb as to think
this is going to get you anywhere."
He spoke quickly, he might not get another chance. "Do you think Honore is going to be
released in exchange for me? No way, and
even if he was, he's insane, don't you know that? Insane...........AAAAH"
Steve found
himself on his knees arms folded across his belly where one of the thugs had
struck him. She had given the merest nod towards the goon, and he had moved like greased
lightning for all his bulk. Unprepared
for the blow, Steve stayed on his knees to recover his composure.
Marguerite Vashon
appeared to remain calm, icy, but her eyes shone with a renewed anger at
him. "Don't you ever interrupt me,
McGarrett. I'm in control here. Do you think I did this for that fool
Honore? He was always a fool, weak,
following in that other old fool, Dominic's footsteps. Ha!
They thought they were invincible.
They made vast fortunes but were careless, stupid. And so were you, McGarrett.
After you had
destroyed them all, you never thought to check where all the money was. Oh yes, you found all the accounts in
Honore's and Dominic's names but you couldn't trace what I had hidden
away."
Marguerite
continued to crow over her victory, enjoying the revelations as much as having
her enemy on his knees before her.
"I had the
money moved McGarrett, into MY
family name. You thought I was the poor
sweet, innocent wife in the background, ignorant of all that wicked criminal
family was doing around me. You were
wrong. You underestimated me,
McGarrett. I knew everything. I
was the brains, the intelligence behind the Vashon empire, once Dominic had
retired. Honore couldn't think his way
out of a paper bag. Just look at that
stupid bungling attempt he made to have you killed when he was in prison. Pathetic!
But you never guessed that I could have anything to do with our empire,
did you?"
Pausing, she
looked into Steve's face and waited for his reply.
Steve's mind was
whirling! He regained his feet and his
composure. He had not expected
this. It was true, he had underestimated
her, had considered her an innocent bystander to her families' activities. He had even felt sorry for her. Now, he had to try to reason with her.
"Why are you
telling me all this," he asked.
"You could have led a quiet life of luxury. Now my men will hunt you down. No matter what happens to me, you can never
escape justice. Why don't you stop this
now, before things get any worse? You're
upset, distraught, a jury will understand that.
But there's no way back from murder. You'll die in prison if you kill
me, and then where will that leave your daughters? Think about them." He urged.
Steve tensed as he
saw the goons look at Marguerite, waiting for a signal to attack him again, but
she shook her head and laughed.
"My poor,
sweet innocent daughters? Who do you
think runs the Vashon empire now? We do,
all of us. Your men will never find you,
they think you're dead - you went into the
Murder you? No, not yet.
I'm going to keep you alive for a very long time. Until I get tired of hurting you, and I want
so very much to hurt you. I've spent
years planning this, thinking about what I would do to you once I had you on my
territory, away from your men, away from your blinking lights and little boy's
sirens. I haven't spent all that time
just for a few minutes or hours of pleasure at your expense, McGarrett. I am going to torture you over and over
again. You will beg me to kill you, but
I won't. You are going to pay for
destroying my family, for killing Christopher."
As she finished
her tirade, Marguerite turned on her heel and walked out. As she left the room, she called out.
"Prepare
him. As I told you."
Steve McGarrett
was a brave man but he tasted fear as the knowledge of her plans for him sank
in. The shotgun at the door was trained
on him and suicide was not an option he would ever consider. For now, he would have to take her
punishments and trust in Danno to find him before it was too late.
*********************************************************************
Nothing flustered
Che Fong. He had been doing his job for
too long and too well to let anything bother him. Except when one of the Five-O team was
involved.
Then the pressure
was on to get results by yesterday.
He knew the significance
of his work and knew he was valued as a highly important member of the
team. The vital breakthrough in numerous
cases had come from his small laboratory, through his painstakingly patient
work. He cared about Five-O. These men were his friends and warm and
generous in their appreciation of him.
Che had already
proved that what Danny thought was blood was not, and he had completed a
detailed examination of the scene where Steve had supposedly called from just
before he disappeared. Steve's car had
already been minutely examined, inch by inch, but had revealed nothing
unusual.
Now Danny thought
these pieces of broken glass were important, and so Che would work on,
painstakingly examining each minuscule fragment, for as long as it took to find
out. He moved a piece of glass from
under his microscope and carefully placed it with the others on his bench. When he had finished studying them all
minutely, he would try to fit them together like a jigsaw puzzle.
An analysis of the
glass itself from one of the tiny pieces would take longer, and Che doubted he
would find anything unusual and therefore useful in that. It looked like they were pieces from a
standard issue windshield for any number of cars. Maybe the jigsaw would be more revealing...........
*********************************************************************
It was just less
than an hour later when Danny burst in, anxiety and hope
in his face.
"Do you have
anything for me Che?" he asked.
Che smiled. "Could be, Danny. I don't know how much it's worth to you, but
I'd say someone deliberately punched a hole in a windshield."
Danny's face lit
up. "You mean someone wanted it to look like a car had been in an
accident, but it hadn't really?"
Che didn't like
making quick assumptions and tried to temper his initial comments.
"Maybe, if
this glass was from the car allegedly involved in the accident Steve
reported. If a car windshield were
shattered due to it rolling over, I'd expect a lot more glass. And from the shape of the pieces and the
angles of the fracture lines, I'd say someone punched a hole in this one with a
small hard object, maybe a hammer, from the inside of the car."
Pleased his theory
was coming together, Danny slapped Che on the back. Glancing at the neat rows of bottles of
chemicals on several shelves, he wondered just how far Che could push the
tests.
"Well done,
Che, good work. Do you think you could
get a make on the car?"
Che sighed and was
about to explain how difficult that would be but Danny had already gone.
******************************************************************
He went back to
Steve's office -- he couldn't begin to think of the possibility it might become
his office, not yet. What next, he
wondered?
He still had to
answer the questions Duke and Chin had put to him, when confronted with Danny's
theory of abduction. Why abduct
Steve? There had been no ransom demand,
no demands for the release of any criminal or group of criminals, so Steve
hadn't been taken to use as leverage.
So why keep him
alive? Wouldn't any of the lowlife with
most motives for the abduction, simply have killed Steve and thrown the body
over the cliff? No, that would not do. Killing Steve would not have needed so
elaborate a deception. Oh, plenty had
tried, and failed, but no one, Steve included, had ever been under the illusion
that it would be all that difficult to kill any one of them. If Steve had been killed, the perpetrator
would have wanted his body to be found, would have left it by the car. So why take Steve? A nasty suspicion crept, unbidden into Dan's
mind and would not be ignored. Revenge.
Dan
shuddered. He had to shelve that thought
or it would take over. The concern over
Steve's fate was bad enough without dwelling on possible details. If he was taken and alive, the possibilities
terrified him. He pushed those thoughts
away for now, in order to concentrate on finding his boss.
Where would be the
next logical place to look for Steve?
He sat down at the
vast desk, still covered in paperwork from this case, then glanced down at the
cardboard box stuffed with the paperwork from Steve's last case, hastily
cleared away when Steve went missing.
There was no immediate rush for Steve's task to be completed. With luck, he'd have Steve back and
reinstalled here in time to finish the job himself.
Danny gathered his
thoughts. If Steve was snatched out of
revenge, who wanted to make him suffer that much? He needed to know who had taken Steve, and he
needed to know where Steve was. Then who
would most likely be someone from Steve's files? Danny briefly considered
Steve's latest case, the bank fraud, but dismissed it almost instantly. The banker had been distraught when
discovered, but didn't have the guts or the backing to pull off something like
this. Still, money could buy most things
in life and he shouldn't dismiss any suspect out of hand. He made a note to himself to pay a visit to
Mr Conrad tomorrow, to check him out.
Who else might be
a better suspect? Names, dozens of names
sprang instantly to mind. How would
Steve narrow the list down? Danny picked
up the phone and asked Jenny whether Chin and Duke were back yet. They were not.
Danny leaned back
in the chair feeling lonely and miserable.
Much as he valued Chin and Duke's inputs, the one person he was
desperate to talk to was Steve. It was a
harsh irony that Steve was probably the best person to solve this mystery. He could always be relied upon to bring some
fresh insight, some intuition to crack open any case.
Danny missed his
mentor deeply. Steve wasn't just a
friend, not just like an older brother to Danny. He was the person Danny most admired and
looked up to. Now it was entirely up to
Danny to save his friend's life. He
hoped more than believed he was up to the task.
He set to making a
list of all Steve's enemies, past and present.
*********************************************************************
Deep into the
night, he was still working. The list as
complete as could be from Steve's files, Danny was working through it,
prioritising, eliminating wherever possible.
Once again, Danny wondered about Steve's unerring ability to antagonise
just about every criminal in
Buoyed by the relief, Danny had
continued. The tedious, time-consuming
work continued until the words on the pages before him danced and merged
together. Chin and Duke had returned
hours ago and were dispatched to search garages and scrap yards for the missing
"accident" car. Danny looked
across at the couch where Steve had so often taken a nap when working through
the night like this. Oh well, if it was
good enough for Steve.........Danny crossed to the couch and lay down. He was asleep in seconds.
******************************************************************
The sun was
creeping through the French windows when Danny awoke, feeling dirty but
refreshed. He showered and returned to
his task long before Jenny arrived.
She heard Danny
working, and decided to treat him in exactly the same way as she always did
with Steve. Coffee, then breakfast
before any other business.
She remembered the
arguments she had with Steve over his poor eating habits during the early days
of Five-O. It had taken a number of
years and a particularly nasty stomach injury to convince Steve of the
advantage of sensible eating, and she wasn't about to start the same battle
with Danny. In less than ten minutes,
Jenny presented Danny with a bowl of healthy cereal, yoghurt, fruit juice and
coffee on a tray. Stunned, Danny ate the
food before Chin and Duke could arrive and catch him. He made a mental note to tease Steve about
Jenny's motherly instincts. If and when
he got Steve back. No, correction, he chided himself for the negativity. When he got Steve back.
He looked at the
list again. It made depressing
reading. Most of
******************************************************************
"C'mon, Mier. We know you're in it up to your neck. McGarrett put your brother away last year and
you've been screaming revenge ever since."
Danny projected a
confidence he didn't actually feel.
Secretly he doubted Charlie had anything to do with Steve's
disappearance. He didn't have the brains
to put together this kind of operation, though his organization certainly had
the resources.
Charlie had taken
over the running after Steve put Al Mier away for money laundering and gunrunning. Al had been the smartest member of the Mier
family and the view was widely held that Charlie would join Al just as soon as
Five-O had time to turn their attention his way.
The oldest member
of the Mier dynasty, Fat Sig Mier had been murdered by a rival organization,
attempting to take over most of the
Incensed by his
brother's twenty-year sentence, Charlie had been less than discreet in making
threats against Steve. Now Danny stood
toe-to-toe with him, trading insults at the bar of Charlie's nightclub, a
sleazy, poorly disguised den of iniquity, frequented mainly by prostitutes and
drug dealers.
Charlie's short
fuse was lit at the mention of his brother's demise.
"I hope
McGarrett is dead. I wish I had killed
him. Do you think I'd be sitting around
just waiting for you to come arrest me if I had? Nah, I'd be out, bragging 'bout it, getting
guys all over
Danny pushed
further. He had to be sure that Charlie
didn't know who had taken Steve. And
Danny had a short fuse too. He was angry
that every slime-ball on the
"You'd better
empty your stinking bar real soon, 'cause you won't be around much longer to
enjoy it. I'll put you away if it's the
last thing I do, Charlie, and that's a promise.
You'll regret the day you ever threatened Steve McGarrett. I don't believe you had nothing to do with
it."
Charlie countered,
enjoying Danny's discomfort hugely, and not realising the danger he was placing
himself in.
"If he's
dead, then I'm glad, the pig deserved it!
But you're not pinning this one on me, I didn't do it and I don't know
who did."
To hear Steve
talked about in this way was too much.
Danny raised the decibel level a couple of notches.
"You scum.
I'm gonna put you away for the rest of your stinking life, you'll join that
no-hope, worthless brother of yours..........."
Whatever else
Danny was about to say was lost among the dirty tablecloths and filthy glasses
as Charlie sent him sprawling, then followed up, hands outstretched, ready to
throttle Danny into silence.
Although shorter
and lighter than his overweight attacker, Danny was no mean fighter. He was quicker and well used to holding his
own against bigger men than himself.
Grappling on the floor, Charlie's height advantage didn't count and the
extra weight he carried was largely fat, not muscle. Danny could fight dirty too when the need
arose and did so now. Within minutes,
Charlie was writhing on the floor, protesting police brutality and calling out
for a lawyer.
Danny handcuffed
him, then called belatedly for back-up to arrest Charlie. He would get no more information from
Charlie, but at least he would be off the streets for a short while. Score one for the good guys, today. A pity Steve wasn't here to see it.
*********************************************************************
Jenny looked up as
Danny limped past her. She clicked her
tongue in displeasure at the sight of cuts and bruises on Danny's face, and
reached down into a drawer of her desk.
If it wasn't bad enough to have one member of the team in perpetual need
of her first aid kit...........
"I expect
you'll want a change of clothes after you've showered." She called after him. Then, quietly to herself, she added, “Steve always does
when he's been in a fight."
*********************************************************************
Dazed from the
agony of his multiple, serious injuries, McGarrett thought back to -- days? -- ago? When he had been only slightly roughed up. And Steve was bored! His mind returned to the first days of his
imprisonment.
The initial
beating had left him bruised and sore but without any serious injuries, nothing
that would slow him down if he could just get out of this room. He had cleaned up a cut above his right eye
and spat blood from his mouth into the sink in a tiny bathroom adjoining the
room he was incarcerated in. He had examined every inch of his cell over and over. The
cell contained little that was useful to him other than a chair.
The bathroom had a
lavatory and sink with a small round mirror fixed to the wall above the
sink. He'd tried to rip the mirror from
the wall with his bare hands, but had nothing but broken nails to show for his
efforts.
Marguerite had entered the room flanked by her
goons not long after the beating. She
inspected his face and seemed satisfied with his bruises. "This is just a taste of what is to
come, for you, McGarrett" she told him, "you can expect much worse. Believe me, I can
make your life much more painful. You
will not try to escape. You will do
exactly as I tell you to do. Otherwise,
the rest of your life will be excruciating".
He believed
her. She was one tough cookie, and Steve
saw little hope of breaking her will.
That left escape as his best option.
Once she had gone, he stared around the cell and paced up and down for a
while. He hated being
closed in, felt the familiar claustrophobia threatening, but forced it
away. He had enough enemies here as it
was, without his own demons attacking him.
Eventually, Steve had sat down to wait.
If Marguerite intended to keep him alive, she would have to arrange for
food to be brought in.
That might provide an opening.
Patience was not
one of Steve's strong points. He was at
heart a man of action. True, he could
work tolerantly through mounds of paperwork when the need arose, but that was
due to the discipline taught him whilst in the navy, it had not come
naturally. In any case, paperwork at
least occupied the mind. Sitting still
with nothing to do and only his own thoughts for
company was just mind-boringly dull.
Steve wondered how
Danny was coping. He worried about the
younger man. The pressure of being head
of the elite police force in the
His long wait was
over. Steve heard
footsteps approaching and was standing beside the door, the chair held
aloft, before the bolts were slid back.
The door opened
outwards and Steve hit the first guard in the face with the chair before he had
chance to enter the room. By happy
chance, this was Neanderthal, who though still clutching his shotgun tightly,
was unable to use it as he fell back off balance against Moustache. Scar-face was behind Moustache and Steve
wasted no time planting a wicked right hook into his face.
There was barely
an instant before these three recovered but that was enough. Steve sprinted past them down the corridor
and ran up a flight of stairs at the end.
There his luck ran out. He found
himself looking down the barrel of a small calibre but nonetheless deadly
handgun being wielded by an amused looking
Marguerite. Steve had no doubt she would
use it if he tried to go any further.
"My dear
McGarrett," she crowed, "you are so
predictable. I've been waiting for
you."
Then as her goons
ran up behind Steve, her tone became altogether more menacing as she told them,
"I expect you'll want to escort McGarrett back to his cell".
*********************************************************************
Alone, later,
Steve had spat more blood into the sink.
The beating he'd received after his failed escape attempt had been more
painful than the first.
"Guess they
don't like someone who fights back" he sighed.
He surveyed the
damage to his face in the mirror. He'd
have an impressive black eye in the morning.
His jaw was swollen and sore with fresh bruises on top of the first set. His ribcage felt stiff and painful from the
onslaught of two pairs of fists, and his shins bore the tattoo of their boots.
His tormentors
were obviously holding back still, as nothing was broken despite their
malicious intent, and Steve was under no illusions about their capability to do
him serious harm. They must be under
very strict orders not to cause damage that was too severe. Steve wondered what sort of threats they
could be under to be able to keep their obvious tempers in check.
He limped back to
the cell, miserable, lonely, wondering if he would be able to engineer another
attempt to get away. He was at a huge
disadvantage. Not only was he outnumbered, weapon-less and slowed by his injuries, but
also he didn't know the layout of this place he was being held in. When he had sprinted upstairs before, he had
no idea what lay ahead, or which way he would have gone had Marguerite not
stopped him.
At least his brief
flight towards freedom had confirmed his earlier suspicions that he was being held in a cellar.
Not only were there no windows to this cell, but he could hear no noises
of the outside world either not even the sound of birds. He had no idea where this place was, or even
if he was still on
*********************************************************************
Another long night
spent poring over lists, making notes, examining reports. Another few hours of
snatched, fitful sleep on the couch.
Another depressingly similar day lay ahead. Still no luck finding the
Mysterious Injured Lady. None of
the criminals checked out so far offered any real leads. It looked as though Steve had simply
vanished, gone into the ocean as had been the initial
theory. Except that
Danny knew this not to be the case.
Che had reported
there was nothing special about the windshield glass as expected, all he could
say was that it was from an American car.
Big help.
The car it had belonged to was as ephemeral as the Vanishing Lady.
Next on his list
was a man Steve considered the next in line to take over the running of the
Kumu, Tony Alika.
One tough customer. Even Steve found it difficult to intimidate
the guy. Danny
would have to be at his most aggressive today, if he was going to get anywhere.
Foregoing the
delights of muesli tasting of woodshavings, Danny left the Palace eager to make
an early start to the day. Perhaps he
could catch Alika unprepared at this hour.
Equally, he wanted to avoid Jenny's mothering.
*********************************************************************
The second escape
attempt hadn't been much more successful than the first. Steve had used a shoe to break the mirror, then used one jagged piece of it to attack his
opponents. He had made it outside the
house this time before being overtaken by the enraged
guards. The beatings were slowing him
down, next time he would have to try to get a longer head start.
Marguerite was not
so controlled or patient this time. She
entered his cell calmly enough but said nothing. Moustache used his vice grip once more and
Steve mentally prepared himself for Scarface's fists. Instead, Marguerite walked over and
backhanded Steve across his face. An
oversized ring caught his lip and blood dribbled down his chin. Steve recognised the ring. It was the one Christopher Vashon had worn
and had a "V" cut into it.
Marguerite stared
at her ring, then at Steve's face. She
touched his lip with her finger and rubbed the red wetness between her finger
and thumb. Steve watched as her eyes
changed. An excitement danced there, she
was intoxicated by this new power she held. A deeper concern began to overtake
Steve. This was a different Marguerite,
an altogether more dangerous and unpredictable foe. She left the room talking quietly to her men,
issuing new orders for their ears only.
The men removed
the remains of the mirror and gave Steve shorts to change into. His clothes and shoes were
taken from his cell. His hands were bound behind him and his ankles tied together while the
goons fixed a camera high in one corner of the room. They worked silently apart from a few
instructions or comments on their work.
Steve tried to ignore them, shifting his position to ease aching
muscles, realising his next move would be all the more difficult for her new
surveillance.
The expected
beating followed soon after, more severe than usual, but this time Marguerite
was present. She had sauntered into the
cell, arrogant, haughty, had him untied and hauled to his feet.
"You see how
easily I deal with you, McGarrett. You will not attempt anything more, I will
not allow it. I will punish you
every time you try my patience. And now I can see your injuries more clearly. Yes, I am glad you made your pathetic little
attempt. Now, I can watch you whenever I
choose. Of course, I have to have
something worthwhile watching."
Turning to her
men, she spoke with deceptive softness.
"Hurt him. I want to see
blood."
She had her wish
almost immediately as Moustache reopened the cuts above Steve's eye and to his
lip. Then he went to work on Steve's
chest, first with his fists and after Scarface dropped his burden to the
ground, with his feet. Scarface joined
in, kicking Steve's back, forcing him to uncurl from his defensive fetal
position. Marguerite watched in silent
fascination until his ribs broke. Calling
a halt, she waited until Steve could breathe quietly, and had her men hold him
up in front of her.
She talked of her
son, Christopher, claiming Steve had murdered the boy. Battered, bruised and bloody, Steve was
unable to answer. He needed the support
afforded him by her goons, one on either side of him, or he would have collapsed
to the floor. Angry that this woman
could still believe the lie that he had murdered her son, Steve clenched his
fists. If he could just control his
breathing long enough, he may be able to talk, to defend himself. Again. She was still talking. He tried to concentrate on her words.
"You killed
my son with this hand and now I'm going to punish you for it.” Marguerite nodded to the goon on Steve's
right. Moustache.
Moustache had held
Steve's right arm out while Marguerite produced her pistol and shot his
hand! It was so casual, so easy for her,
the pure pleasure this wanton act of savagery gave her was terrifying. Steve heard a man's voice yelling, a scream
of pure uncontrollable agony in the distance.
As the goons released him and he fell into unconsciousness, he was
shocked to realise the voice was his own.
While unconscious,
Marguerite had his hand bound. Escape
was no longer an option. Now he would
have to rely on Danny alone to save him.
********************************************************************
"Just who do
you think you are, Mr Williams, to come barging in here making accusations
against me. I'm a respectable
businessman I'll have you know, I pay my taxes, contribute to several charities
and I have friends in high places."
The smartly suited
man behind the desk looked the part too.
Only Danny knew that Alika's suits were paid for by
the victims of his protection rackets.
Steve and Danny
had been building a case against Alika for some months. It was slow, painstaking work, with witnesses
impossible to come by as was usual in these type of
cases. Protection rackets worked by
instilling fear into the community they fed from, and that fear protected the
racket.
It was possible
that Alika had gotten wind of the investigation against him, decided to do
something to stop it before Steve had a chance to put a stop to him. If he had nothing to do with Steve's
disappearance then Danny risked losing months of hard work, but he figured it
was worth the risk.
"I don't give
a damn about your friends. I think you
kidnapped Steve McGarrett because he was closing in on your operations. I'm going to find him - and finish the job. You'll find it very hard to collect from your
"clients" until McGarrett is found."
Danny handed over
the search warrant he'd secured and waved in the HPD officers who had been waiting
outside. He went across to a large
filing cabinet next to Alika's desk, opened the first drawer and tipped the
contents onto the floor.
"Take it all
back to Five-O headquarters, officers.
Chin Ho Kelly is waiting to go through this little lot. Then come back and park outside. I want to know every time anyone from this
office leaves, and where they go"
Alika was
incensed. He insisted Danny couldn't
have his men followed, threatened to call the Governor and to have Danny
stripped of his badge. Unmoved, Danny
continued to tip out paperwork onto the floor.
Words he had hoped never to repeat leapt unbidden into his mind.
"You'll be
amazed at what we can get away with until McGarrett is found."
*******************************************************************
"Oh
no, not again." Steve groaned when he heard the bolts being pulled back on the door to his prison. So much for her stated
intention to keep him alive for a long time. His body couldn't take much more, certainly
not another beating. At least he'd not
begged her for mercy as she had predicted.
What did she have in mind for him this time?
He found himself
shaking in spite of his determination not to let her see his fear.
She entered the
room with the usual thugs and another smaller man. He was dressed in a suit and carried a large
leather bag. A weasel of a man, he had
brown, greasy hair, a small thin moustache, wore glasses and was sweating
profusely. He was obviously terrified of
Marguerite. Steve judged the newcomer to
be the person responsible for binding his wounded hand. Marguerite confirmed his guess.
"This is Dr.
Kuhala. He's going to make sure you
don't die on me McGarrett. I told you I
would keep you alive. Go ahead, Doctor. Oh and, McGarrett, don't think about trying
to use the good doctor to get out. If
you should ever be able to overpower him, I'll have him shot. He is expendable, I
only need him to keep you alive so you can suffer for longer. Hurt him, and you will both die sooner,
that's all."
Marguerite stood
over Steve, watching his reactions as the doctor did as he was
told. Her eyes, which had at first seemed so cold, seemed to brighten with every
involuntary wince or gasp. Steve worried
about her mental state. He had often got himself out of difficult situations by
reasoning with his opponents, but if she became any more unpredictable, then
any comment made by him could be enough to set her off into a frenzy of
anger. He would have to look for other
approaches.
As much as he
disliked this slimy, nervous doctor, he might yet prove useful, and Steve may
have to build a relationship of trust between them. It wasn't possible with Marguerite watching
and listening this time, but Steve was sure he would be seeing a whole lot more
of Weasel. Marguerite had made her
intentions towards the doctor very clear.
Perhaps Steve could use this against her. Weasel may be persuaded
to help Steve if he felt Marguerite had no more use for him.
At least the
doctor made a mild attempt at protesting her treatment of Steve.
"I told you
your men had gone too far. These
injuries are severe. I warned you too
much bruising alone can lead to blood loss and
shock. With broken ribs and his hand as
well, this man could die."
His protests were said with a thin reedy voice and Marguerite was
scornful.
"Nonsense.
Look at how many other scars McGarrett has. I know the scars bullets leave. McGarrett has been shot
many times before. He is strong, he can survive a small beating every now and
then."
Her words were
obviously intended to torment and strike fear into Steve. He concentrated on keeping his face neutral,
trying not to react to the pain of the probing examination. He was partially successful until the bandage
was changed on his hand. Disturbing the already throbbing wound was
too much and Steve cried out then gave in to blissful unconsciousness once
more.
********************************************************************
Duke and Chin were
going over much the same ground as ever.
Danny was still out, checking up on anyone who appeared to have a reason
to hate Steve.
They worried about
their boss too, but also for Danny. The
weight of responsibility was great, and although Danny always took on that
responsibility willingly whenever he had to, it was still a heavy load to bear.
It didn't help
that whenever he had taken on the role of head of Five-O, it had been because
of some injury or crisis involving Steve.
How many times had Steve been lying in the hospital, in a critical
condition, while Danny had rushed around catching the man who had put him
there? Or had
to unravel another frame while Steve was in danger of ending up in prison? It was a wonder Danny didn't suffer from
ulcers.
"You notice
how Danny's trying to act like Steve?"
Chin finally
voiced the concerns they had both felt since day one.
"Yeah,
Chin. He's rushing around, confronting
everyone on the list, picking fights too.
Steve can get away with it, it seems to come
naturally to him. Must
be something to do with his Irish background. Danny's aggression isn't helping,
though. He's acting first and thinking
after."
Duke was relieved the subject was out in the open. He still had strong ties with H