Remembering Jack Lord

March 2013



Written by Barbara


The Pacific salt water washed over his feet, and the white sand clung to his shoes. The Commander was uncomfortably aware that he had just polished his dress shoes. It even irked him that the man he had come to see was not only the cause of his discomfort, but oblivious to it. In fact, the man appeared to be right in his element. The man who had necessitated this trip down to the secluded beach was none other than the now retired, yet still renowned Steven McGarrett. The former head of Hawaii Five-0 was resting comfortably -- yes, comfortably -- in a lounge chair, wearing the requisite straw hat, aloha shirt, and beach shorts. His feet bare, his legs tan. The Commander noted that McGarrett, although in casual attire, still possessed an inherent dignity. The legendary Steve McGarrett did not disappoint.

“May Navy expect an answer by the end of the day?” the Commander offered. 

Steve just turned his head toward the incoming waves, shook his head, and smiled.

“Commander, allow me to recap what you have just told me. The Navy is being infiltrated by a computer hacker. Your best technological experts cannot identify him, except that he is presumed to be male and based somewhere on Oahu. And you want me to locate him?” 

The Commander eagerly jumped in: “Yes, Mr. McGarrett. You have no technological expertise yourself. You have no computer, no cell phone, no voice mail. In fact, your revulsion of modern technology necessitated me having to come here. Here. To the beach. This secluded area.”

Steve smiled again. “You mean the area that is not even accessible on Google Maps or GPS?” 

The Commander’s eyes widened with surprise. “Yes, you knew that?”

Steve replied, “Oh yes, Commander. I knew that.” 

For the first time the Commander allowed himself a chuckle. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“It’s actually quite simple,” Steve explained. “I choose to live like this. I am a very private man. Always have been. I have not become reclusive in my retirement. My private life has always been just that. I’m not doing anything differently. I assure you I am quite capable of grasping technology. I just refuse to allow it to grasp me.” 

This time both men smiled at the same time and at each other.

The Commander continued, “We need someone whose expertise extends beyond technology. We need someone who has solid, old-fashioned people skills. Someone who can make up a profile. Get inside the mind of the criminal and tell us what we need to know about him.” 

“Old-fashioned, eh? Should I be flattered, Commander?

“I don’t ruin my dress shoes for just anyone. Yes, Mr. McGarrett, you should be flattered, as you call it.” 

Steve sighed, “Agreed, Commander, agreed. You have yourself a gumshoe. When do I start?”

The Commander now sighed also, but with relief. “Right away, Mr. McGarrett. That is, as soon as I notify my office. It’s just that I can’t get any cell phone coverage down here, but I guess you already knew that.”

Steve just laughed.



The Cop Turned Teacher

         by Steve's Girl

Slowly the sun rose, promising another beautiful day for the island of O'ahu. Steve McGarrett sat on the lanai of his beach house lost in thought, therefore unusually untouched by the beauty of the sunrise. A coffe pot and a mug proved that he obviously had already spent a considerable amount of time there. Indeed he had. Sleep had eluded him for most of the night which was really unusually for him since he had resigned as head of Hawai'i Five-0 exactly one year to the day.

'One year round,' Steve mused, 'where did the time go?'

All of a sudden this day was very vivid in his mind.

On December 4 1979 Paul Jameson had stepped down as governor and his successor, Joseph Yamamoto, had been sworn in. On December 5 Yamamoto had inquired to see Steve and as the day had drawn to a close, Steve had resigned as head of Five-0. After a cold greeting tempers had flared soon. Yamamoto had thanked Steve for the good work he had done on the recently solved cases and had continued that he wouldn't allow Steve doing things his own way any longer:

"You stepped on too many toes of too many important people!

 Maybe Jameson mellowed over the years, backing you to the hilt!

You acted like a bull in a china shop!

Such behavior is history as of now!

I won't allow any dinosaurs in my administration!

Did I make myself clear?"

Steve had risen from his chair, taken his badge from his suit pocket and his gun from his holster and placed both items carefully on the governor's desk.

"Yes, sir, you have", he had said calmly, turned on his heel and left the room.

At Jameson's farewell party Frank Mualana from the University of Hawai'i had approached and told him that the sociology department had planned to introduce the subject of criminology and asked if he would like lecturing from time to time as a free-lance lecturer: "The man who has seen it all in contrast to the men of theory", Frank had put it.


"The man who has seen it all...", those words had suddenly come back to Steve's mind yesterday afternoon.

He had finished a lecture, no, it had merely been a talk with a group of soon-to-be-graduated students. All of the young people had left except for one who had waited politely until Steve had put his things into his briefcase and shut it.

"May I have a moment, sir, please?", the young man had asked.

Steve had looked up at the student, Mark Hunter. He was about six foot two with a frame to match,

dark hair, dark eyes. During  discussions it had often seemed that he didn't have much to say, but his remarks were always intelligent ones and straight to the point. Quiet, intelligent, excellent grades, very good at sports, well liked by his peers, but a loner - those were the opinions of his teachers.

'He looks vaguely familiar', Steve had thought several times, 'and seems to commit every word I'm saying to memory'. 

"Yes, of course, Mark" Steve had replied.

"I want to thank you, sir, for putting my uncle's murderer behind bars and for showing me how wrong my intentions to take courses in criminology were." 

Steve was completely at a loss for words.

"I think we better have a seat, Mark, and you elaborate about what you just said." 

After the men had sat down Steve had asked:

"Would you tell me your uncle's name, please?" 

"My uncle was Chinough Olena".

Years were pushed back as if someone had pushed back a curtain:

'Chinough Olena, HPD officer, Danno's friend! The man who had once saved Danno's life! Killed by a junkie whom Olena was checking on in a traffic control only minutes after he and Danno had parted!'

"My mother never got over his death. Uncle Chino was the only one who stood by her when she fell in love with my father and had to marry him because she was pregnant with me. After Uncle Chino's death the family shut her out completely and she died two years later," Mark had continued.

Steve hadn't known what to say. He had been through that so often: Police officers being killed on duty, leaving wives,children, siblings, parents behind.

'Mark must have been about twelve years old then," Steve had thought, remembering a chubby boy

of about that age from Olena's funeral who  had stood there, wide eyed and obviously shocked.

'Could that have been Mark?'

"After the funeral everybody was furious with me because I hadn't shed a single tear but simply stood there and stared. I had made a vow there and then to become a police officer one day.

When Uncle Chino's murderer was arrested by Five-0, I started a scrap book, filling it with every newspaper clipping about Five-0 and especially about you, sir. You hadn't become head of Five-0 rising through the ranks of HPD, so I thought if I could manage to attend university, I didn't have to start at HPD either.

“After my mother died I trained hard to be in good physical shape. Took boxing and karate lessons, anything to be prepared for the job. Besides I studied hard to get good grades in order to win a scholarship. My father couldn't afford to send one of his children to university. Wanting revenge was the only driving force behind all this.


Mark had taken a deep breath and continued: "When it was announnced that you would be working as a lecturer at UH I couldn't believe my luck. Now I was going to learn every trick in the book and from the best. "But", Mark hesitated, "...I was very disappointed at first. No stories about chases 'round the islands, gunfights and how you escaped the "bad guys" but finally hunted them down.

Nothing of that kind. You told us about the geography and history of Hawai'i, the beliefs and attitudes of Hawaiian and Asian cultures. And you made us see that and how those are inevitably linked and influence not only our everyday life but also the intentions and behavior of criminals.

And you made us recognize how beautiful Hawai'i is by showing and explaining to us many of the beautiful photos you took. And that people must be made aware of this heritage and not take it for granted. If people are aware, they care more and that might help to prevent criminal acts like those dealing with development or pollution or whatever. I don't know about my fellow students, but I learned a lot about assuming responsibility. For yourself, for your actions and and for the land you live on. I can't thank you enough for showing me and making me realize that this is a much more desirable, if not the only one, motive to become a police officer than revenge." 

After a few moments of silence Mark had risen, thanked Steve again, bade him goodbye and left.

Steve had sat, rooted to the spot, for a few moments more, then he had left as well and driven home. 


He had sat on his lanai until late in the evening, replaying Mark Hunter's words over and over again in his mind. Around midnight he had decided it was time to got to bed. But he had slept fitfully if at all and returned to the lanai at 5 AM.

'To think that this young man had shaped his life for years around the aim of taking revenge! To think of the amount of hate that must have been building up inside him! And to think that you very likely saved him from a life in prison or dying on the streets, like his uncle, had he transformed this hate into action!'

Gradually a feeling of humility mixed with pride sprang up in Steve. He realized that he had chosen the right path. That he could successfully make young people realize the importance of assuming responsibility yourself and that he would continue to do so.

Smiling Steve rose from his chair, changed into his jogging clothes and shoes and set out on his morning jog along a now sunflooded beach.



There’s Retirement and Then There’s…

By H50 1.0 FOREVER

Steve McGarrett had received a grand send-off. The Five-0 team had feted him with dinner and dancing at The Kahala. Former team members had come, as well. Dan Williams had even flown over from the mainland, where he now lived. Secretaries May and Jenny had come, as had Kono Kalākaua, who now headed investigations for the HPD. The only missing face had been that of Chin Ho Kelly, whose presence had been missed by all.

What had surprised Steve most were the cards he had received from two former adversaries, Mischa Toptegan and Wo Fat. Both had wished him well; in fact, Mischa had signed his card “With warmest regards, Mischa and Katya Toptegan.”Steve was not surprised that they had learned of his retirement, only that they thought well of him.

Those foreign agents might have held McGarrett in high regard, but several local adversaries did not. Rumors abounded that Tony Alika had teamed with Honoré Vashon in a plot to cut Steve’s retirement short – very short. Five-0 was working the case, but Steve knew the best thing he could do was provide for his own protection.

Ever since he had entered the intelligence community, Steve McGarrett had made a point of living in a high-rise apartment that offered little opportunity for infiltration. The Palm Gardens Condominiums, where he had lived since the Vashons had hired Peter Makros to blow up his car at the Twin Towers, was patrolled by two security guards, one who guarded the front of the building and one who guarded the rear. No one entered or left the building without presenting a resident’s identification card to one of the guards. The windows in Steve’s apartment were jalousies, narrow panes of glass that swung out from the top to admit the tropical breezes without allowing access to rain or human intruders. Steve lived on the seventh floor, which was nearly midway up the building. In short, Steve’s home was as secure as it possibly could be – unless he moved into a bunker at Battery Harlow, that is.

His transportation was another matter. The parking garage beneath the building and the elevator from the garage to the apartments were accessible with a key card. No security guards patrolled them; thus, it was conceivable that someone could slip in. The building managers were more concerned with ensuring that no one stole a car than with making sure that no one planted a bomb in a car. It was an area that worried the retired intelligence officer; however, he had to accept that the precautions being taken were sufficient protection for most people.

Steve kept a close lookout for who and what were around him. He refrained from loitering in open, dark, or sparsely populated areas. While the current threat level was high, he wore a bullet-proof vest. In short, he had to accept that he was doing as much as he could to protect himself. If it were his time to go, he would go, no matter what he did to protect himself.


“I have an idea for you to consider, Steve,” said Detective Duke Lukela. He had dropped in on his predecessor and now sat in a comfortable leather chair, nursing a tall glass of a mixture of fruit juices that Steve called nectar of the gods. “Why don’t you take a vacation away from the islands. Give us six weeks to get Honoré Vashon transported to Leavenworth.”

“I’ve been trying to get Vashon moved to a federal penitentiary for nearly five years, Duke, but the courts insist that, because my position at Five-0 was a state one, his crimes against me were state ones; therefore, he should be kept in a state facility.”

“Yes, Steve, but if we can persuade them to accept that you were also a Navy officer and that Vashon threatened a federal official, they would send him to Leavenworth,” Duke insisted.

“I agree. Still, the court’s interpretation seems unlikely to change. Vashon has been in solitary since he pulled that stunt during the legislators’ tour of O‘ahu State Prison five years ago, yet he still manages to run his operations. Three times, I tried to get Governor Jameson to let me put a plant in place to learn how he was operating; three times, Jameson told me to forget Honoré Vashon and move on.”

“As you know, Steve, we have a new governor, now. Governor Sharpe has granted us permission to put in a plant.”

“Oh! Has he?” Steve exclaimed.

“Yes, Steve, and he wants Vashon moved away from the islands as badly as we do. Again, give us six weeks to put that into effect and to apprehend Tony Alika on a federal charge.”

“A federal charge? What is that old fox up to, now?” Steve asked.

“He’s dabbling in securities fraud. We and the FBI suspect him of being behind the death of Roland Nakahara, director of the local securities division.”

“Yes!” Steve exclaimed, clenching his fist. “Just what we need to put him away for good!”

“Yes, Steve. We’re working with the FBI and the SEC. The evidence against Alika is mounting. In a matter of weeks, we’ll have him under arrest.”

Steve pursed his lips, set his jaw, and lowered his fist onto the arm of his chair. After a moment, he said, “I like it! Yes, Duke. Let’s do that.”

“Pack your bags. Late tonight, we’ll take you to Lanikai. From there, a boat will take you to Hilo. You’ll fly out tomorrow morning on the first flight to the mainland. Leave no trace of ideas you might have of places to go or see – in case someone gets in here.”

“I know how to do it, Duke,” Steve replied.


At 11:30 that night, a six-year-old Chevrolet sedan entered the parking garage beneath the Palm Gardens Condominiums. Its driver parked near the elevators, then alit and unlocked the trunk. At the same time, Steve emerged from the elevator lobby and stashed two large Pullmans and a briefcase in the trunk. He crouched on the floor of the back seat of the nondescript vehicle and remained there until they reached Lanikai. Even as the plain-clothed HPD patrolman parked, a cabin cruiser came up an inlet and pulled up to a private pier behind the home of HPD Chief Dan. Within seconds, Steve and his luggage were aboard the boat and headed out to sea.


“What do you mean no one’s seen McGarrett in a week?” Tony Alika exploded as he and Bobby Oshiro spoke on the lanai behind Alika’s Kahala Beach home.

“No one’s seen him in a week,” Oshiro repeated, “not since Duke Lukela went to see him that afternoon.”

A grin began to creep across Alika’s face. “You don’t suppose Lukela offed him, doyou?” It was a rhetorical question meant only to give its speaker a moment of pleasure. As his smile faded, he said, “It means they’ve moved him.”

“If so, no one knows anything about it. I’ve questioned everyone from the rats on Hotel Street to Vashon’s informers. No one’s seen him or knows where he might have gone.”

“Keep looking.”

“Mr. Alika, may I ask why we’re still interested in McGarrett? He’s no longer in charge of Five-0.”

“I promised to get that pompous twit, and I intend to do so. Now, get back out there and find that cop.”

“Yes, Mr. Alika.”


Meanwhile, in O‘ahu State Prison, Honoré Vashon received a similar briefing from his own informer. Vashon took a more hands-on approach to the situation.

“In that case, let’s assume he’s left the islands. Check our intelligence. Find out where he goes to rest and recreate.”

“Rest and what?”

“On vacation, Linkoa. Find out where McGarrett goes on vacation.”

“Yes, Mr. Vashon.”


At Five-0 headquarters, Kimo Carew entered the big office, now “home” to Edward D. “Duke” Lukela.

“Did McGarrett reach the mainland?” Duke asked.


“That seems almost too good to be true,” Duke remarked. “Is there any chance Alika or Vashon learned of our plans?”

“Every indication is that they are turning the islands upside down, trying to find him.”

“That won’t last long. We’ve got to get these investigations wrapped up – and quickly.” Duke dialed an extension. “Truck, come in here, will you?”

“On my way,” the large Hawaiian investigator replied. A career HPD investigator, Truck Kealoha had spent a year on loan to Five-0. So effective had he been that Duke had chosen him to fill the slot left vacant by McGarrett’s retirement.

Duke also summoned Lani Kapahela, another HPD transplant. Sharp as a tack, she could scale Diamond Head with the best of the detectives. Her forté, however, was strategic planning. She could keep up with who was where and when better than anyone Duke ever had known. A few weeks earlier, he had admitted to his wife that he fully expected Lani to succeed him as Five-0 chief.

“What’s going on in the Alika camp, Lani?” he asked.

“Half are looking for Steve. The other half are trying to put distance between Alika and the Roland Nakahara murder. The kicker, though, is that the word at O‘ahu State Prison is that Vashon’s people have deduced that, if Alika can’t find McGarrett in the islands, he must have left.”

“That was a risk we took, but the world is much larger than these islands. It will take them longer to find him. That gives us time to shut down those two organizations. How is that coming?”

“The FBI is hours away from arresting Alika. Our plant is sending good intelligence from the prison.”

Truck spoke up. “We need to thwart movement by Vashon’s watchdogs.”

“I agree, Duke,” Kimo said. “Alika’s, too.”

“Okay. Let’s do that. Truck, have the HPD watch the watchdogs from both camps. If they speed, pull them over and give them a ticket. If they run a light, ticket them. Make their lives miserable. Confuse them so that their efforts are hampered.”


As soon as he disembarked from the flight from Hilo, Steve McGarrett claimed his luggage and left the airport. He boarded the city’s light rail system and made his way to the local railroad station. There, he purchased a ticket for a bedroom on a train going East. It would not depart until that evening, and so, he checked into a nearby fleabag hotel.

When McGarrett emerged from the hotel that evening, he no longer resembled himself. He had washed away the dark-brown hair coloring he had used since his hair had started to gray some ten years earlier. Now, his hair was snow-white. Wearing his glasses, instead of contact lenses, the retired detective looked even less like himself. At a secondhand shop, he exchanged his island wear for jeans; flannel shirts; a tan, fleece-lined corduroy coat; and a plaid hunting cap with bill and ear flaps. Now, he left the flaps up.

After purchasing a sandwich and half-pints of orange juice and milk, he boarded the train and located his room. He lowered the shades on the window and sat down to eat the first meal he had partaken in nearly twenty-four hours. By the time he finished eating, the train had left the station. Steve waited until it was out of the city before he raised the shades. Then, stretching out along the bench seat, he watched the moon and stars until the rocking motion of the train lulled him to sleep. He did not wake when the porter came, asking to make up the berth.


In Honolulu, matters were heating up. As darkness approached, Five-0 and the FBI prepared to stage a raid on the home of Tony Alika. Duke checked the file to make sure that all the necessary documents were in place. The last thing he wanted was for Alika to get off on a technicality. Sure enough, warrants had been delivered for every one of Alika’s henchmen. He even had an enlargement of the federally issued Miranda Rights stapled to the front of the file to make sure he did not forget to read them their rights.

Duke did not mind admitting that he was frightened. True, he had been on many raids through the years, but he’d never led a raid. Now, it was up to him to ensure that it all was done according to proper procedure. Drawing in a deep breath,he secured the bullet-proof vest that he wore over his shirt and donned a new Five-0 field jacket over it. Fashioned after those used by the federal agencies, the jacket was essentially a windbreaker. Dark blue, it bore an image of the Hawai‘i state seal and the name “Hawai‘i State Police” on the chest, left of the zipper, and the word “Police” across the back in large, bold, white letters.

“Nice jackets you ordered for us, Duke,” Truck exclaimed as he walked in.

“I don’t know how many sports coats I’ve ruined on field operations.”

“It’s good to see law enforcement waking up to the harsh realities of working in the field.”

Kimo Carew appeared, wearing his own field jacket. “It’s time,” he said.

“Let’s go,” Duke replied.

Leaving the Five-0 Building by the rear exit, the team darted out to the new police van. The van sported sliding doors on both sides and a larger engine, heavier suspension, and more headroom than was available in vans sold to the public. Inside, two rows of seats could accommodate up to five people, six if someone sat over the engine. Behind the bench seat were cabinets holding everything from weapons and ammunition to first aid gear. With Truck Kealoha at the wheel, the team made their way slowly, unobtrusively through the city streets and out to Kahala.

Five-0 met up with the FBI in Black Point, at the point where Diamond Head Road bends around the crater, while the road ahead becomes known as Kahala Avenue. Truck parked beside the FBI van at Fort Ruger Park, a small wedge of land comprising a neighborhood playground. The two teams opened their side doors only long enough to ensure that everyone was ready and to confirm that Alika had been at home since 6:00 that evening. Then, the two teams closed their side doors, and the trucks began to roll. Five-0 led the way out Kahala Avenue and to the area where Alika lived.

The FBI van turned off, onto a side street leading down to the beach. From there, its team ran along the beach to the rear of Alika’s lot. At the same time, the Five-0 team approached the house along the winding driveway that led from the street. It stopped before the double front doors, and the team leaped out.

Truck banged loudly on the door with his fist. When no one answered, he banged again and called out, “Tony Alika! Five-0! Come out with your hands over your head.”  

Nearly a minute passed before the door opened. Tony Alika stood before the Five-0 officers. Standing behind him were Billy Swann and another Alika aide. Farther back, FBI team members were placing cuffs on other Alika aides.

“Anthony Pulehu Alika, you are under arrest for the murder of Roland Nakamura,” proclaimed Kimo Carew.

“Whoa!” Alika exclaimed. “I didn’t kill anyone!”

“Tell it to the court. Read him his rights, Lani.”


Later that night, Duke Lukela; Five-0 plant, Moki ‘Ohana; and HPD Chief Dan met with the warden of O‘ahu State Prison about the information that was coming to light about Honoré Vashon’s continued participation in his organization’s illegal activities.

“You seem to have an open-door policy here, Warden,” Chief Dan exploded. “Look at this roster. Three times a week, each of six of Vashon’s men pays a visit. None remains for more than five or ten minutes. It takes longer than that to ask after the family back at home! These men are not paying social calls, Warden!”

Duke spoke up. “To that end, I have acquired authorization from Judge Kalehi to conduct wiretaps on the conversations between Vashon and each of those six men.” He gave the warden copies of the court orders. “My men will install the equipment tonight, and Detective ‘Ohana will tape all conversations between Vashon and his henchmen at each visit over the next two weeks.”

“Know this,” Chief Dan added, “If one or more of the henchmen stops coming or if the information we receive proves to be bogus, we will know there is a leak, and our search for the leak will begin with you.”

“You got that right, bruddah!” Duke affirmed.

“I assure you, gentlemen, I have no part in Honoré Vashon’s activities.”

“In that case, we look forward to getting some excellent recordings,” Duke said.


Three days after leaving the West Coast, the train pulled into Penn Station in New York City. The white-haired man in a red flannel shirt disembarked. With his duffle bag over his shoulder, he began making his way toward the escalator to the terminal. From there, he made his way to the gates to the Long Island Railroad, where he caught the Number 3 train to the Atlantic Avenue station.

Less than an hour after arriving in New York, Steve knocked on the door of one of few red-brick houses in South Richmond Hill. It was the house in which he had grown up,  the house he had sold to his cousin, Bob McGarrett, after his mother’s death.

Footsteps came through the house, and the porch light came on. A face appeared in the sidelight. As it recognized the caller, a smile spread across the face, the locks clicked as they were released, and the door opened.

“Steve! Are you ever a sight for sore eyes!” Bob exclaimed happily.

“Hi! Can you put me up?”

“You know it! Come on in here and tell me why you’re dressed like Paul Bunyan.”

Steve stepped inside and glanced about. Not much had changed since the days he had lived there, although different furniture filled the rooms and different pictures hung on the walls. Even so, the house reflected the same warmth and familial love that it had in those long-ago days.

“The old place looks good, Bobby.”

“This is a good house! Mandy and I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.”

“Good! Good! How is Mandy?”

“Fine! She’s working tonight. Should be in in another hour or so.”

“Is she still caring for hospice patients?” Steve asked.

“Yes. I couldn’t do it, but she thrives on the old folks and their memories of times gone by.”

“She’s a special woman. What about you? What are you up to these days?”

“The same old thing – nabbing criminals,” Bob replied. “Some days, I don’t know whyI try. For every one I nab, three more spring up, out of the woodwork – or so it seems.”

Steve nodded. “I know that feeling all too well.”

“What brings you here? You have a conference?”

“No. I’m retired.”

“Retired!?!” Bob boomed. “No one retires at the age of 60! No one can afford to retire at the age of 60. You taking bribes or something?”

Steve chuckled under his breath. “No, I’m not taking bribes. Governor Jameson decided twenty years was enough for any self-respecting politician. His replacement didn’t ask me to stay on, not that I encouraged him to.”

“Keep going. I can tell there’s more to this story.”

“Yeah. A couple of mobsters I put away have put a contract out on my life.”

“So, you’re hiding out here, are you?”

“I can leave, if you’d rather.”

“You know better.”

“My replacement – Duke Lukela – and HPD Chief Dan think I’ll be safer away from Honolulu until they can close in on Alika and Vashon.”

“They’re probably right. Okay, then. Come upstairs with me, and we’ll put some sheets on your bed.”


“What are we getting from Vashon’s guests?” Duke asked at staff meeting the next morning.

“Lots!” Moki ‘Ohana replied. “They are his legs as he conducts business as usual.”

“And the guards? Can they not hear what is going on?”

“Only if they’re deaf.”

Duke nodded. “Did you bring the tapes you’ve made so far?”

“Right here,” Moki replied as he handed Duke four reels. “Shall I keep going?”

“Keep going until the court order expires. We may just hear their plans.”

“I think they’re leading up to something on reel three. You might want to start there at 30:14 on the timer.”

“Good,” Duke replied. He handed the tapes to Kimo. “See what you make of it.”

“Will do.”

“What are we getting from Alika and his men?” Duke asked.

“Well, it wasn’t much, at first, but now, Billy Swann is starting to crumble. We expect to wear him down by the end of today.”

“Keep me posted.”


“What do you plan to do, now that you’re retired?” Bob asked.

He and Steve were watching a ballgame. Now, a commercial was playing.

“Don’t really know.”

“That’s odd. You’ve always known what you wanted to do long before anyone else did.”

“I think it’s because I already liked what I was doing.”

“Then, sign up with the local PD. We can always use a good detective.”

Steve chuckled quietly as he studied his brother. “Since you’re the lieu, where would that leave me?”

“Do you want an honest answer or the answer I’d love to give you?” Bob asked as a grin spread across his face.

“Bowing down before you?” Steve asked. “Yeah. That’s what worries me.”

Bob laughed. “Seriously, you’d have your own precinct in nothing flat. In fact, if you want to get a jump start, apply for the opening in College Point.”

“You don’t think they’ll hire from within?”

“How do I know? But I do know that you have an outstanding reputation. At every convention, people want to know ‘How does McGarrett do it?’ and they aren’t talking about me.”

“You flatter me.”

“Flattery, nothing! That assistant you had… What was his name? Williams? Yeah, Williams. His face turned beet red, and he said, ‘As near as I can figure it, he either has an IQ of 160 or else he was a master criminal in a former life.’”

“Danno said that?”

“More than once. Go ahead. Apply. See what happens.”

“I don’t know, Bobby. I’ve lived in Honolulu for so long, I’m not sure I’d know how to live anywhere else.”

“Suit yourself, but for my money, it would be very nice to put this family back together. We’ve been apart too long, already.”

“You’re right about that,” Steve agreed.


Moki ‘Ohana scarcely could believe his ears. No longer relying on the speakers, he donned earphones and listened as Honoré Vashon met with his top aide, Tosaki.

“McGarrett’s on the mainland. He landed three days ago. There, we lost him. He hasn’t bought another plane ticket or rented a car. We’re checking buses and trains. So far, no one’s seen him even hitching a ride.”

“You find that Irishman!”

“We’re following every possibility, Mr. Vashon.”

“Don’t you have a contact at the credit card office? Where is he spending his money?”

“He’s not using credit cards.”

“Damn! I don’t care if he is a highly trained intelligence officer. You find that man and carry out what you were told to do eight years ago.”

Another voice spoke, then. “Are you ready to go back to your cell, Mr. Vashon?”

“I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”

“Hold your voice down. These walls have ears.”


Moki played the conversation for Duke.

“That’s it!” Duke exclaimed. “Together with the testimony of Vashon’s earlier attempts to kill Steve, this cinches it.”

Taking up the telephone, he called the governor’s office. Later that day, the guard in the visitor’s room was arrested for aiding and abetting and dereliction of duty. Two days later, following an appearance before a federal judge, Honoré Vashon was en route aboard a Conair plane to Atwater high-security prison in California. That same day, Tosaki was arrested as he attempted to board a flight to the city where Steve McGarrett last had been sighted.


Steve was having dinner with Bob and Mandy when the telephone rang. Assuming that the call would be for him, Bob arose to answer it.

“Lieutenant McGarrett, this is Duke Lukela with Five-0 in Honolulu. Is Steve there?”

“Yes, he is, Mr. Lukela. Just one moment. Steve, for you.”

Steve excused himself from Mandy and went to take the call. “Hey, Duke! Howzit?”

“Good news all around. Vashon’s in federal prison. Tosaki, two lesser men, and a prison guard are under arrest. Billy Swann broke down and told all about Alika’s having Roland Nakamura killed. The rest of Alika’s team is about ready to start talking. If you want to come home, come ahead.”

“I’ll be there in a week or so. Right now, I’m having too much fun with Bob and Mandy and seeing friends from my high school days.”

Duke chuckled. “Okay. Give the word, and we’ll make sure the coast is clear for your return home.”

“Appreciate it, Duke. You’ve done a remarkable job, rounding up those hoods.”

“I did it the way you taught me to, Steve.”

“Thank you. We had some wild adventures, didn’t we?”

“That we did. Enjoy your visit, Steve.”

“Thank you, Duke. I am.”


A few nights later, Steve wandered down to a restaurant he had noticed on his walk from the train station upon his arrival. With the name The Tiki Hut, it couldn’t have been anything but Polynesian. He wanted to check it out. Who knew? Maybe they would serve food that tasted more like home.

Even before he entered, he heard guitars playing. As he walked inside, he heard voices singing in Hawaiian. Accepting the mu‘umu‘u-clad hostess’ offer of a table, he smiled as he sat down and listened to the familiar song. In fact, he listened to several songs before he finally opened the menu and looked to see what he might have for his dinner. The food, too, was Hawaiian. He soon was struggling to decide among chicken long rice, grilled ahi, and kalua pork. Using reason over desire, he chose the grilled ahi with fresh vegetables and jasmine rice.

“What do you recommend?” asked a familiar voice as Bob and Mandy walked up and sat down at his table.

Steve smiled at them. “Relax, enjoy the music, and order the grilled ahi.”

They did.


The following morning, Steve was reading when the telephone rang. He did not answer it until Duke’s voice came over the answering machine.

“Steve,as soon as you get in, give Manu Kaloana at the university a call. He wants you to teach two sections of criminal investigations on an adjunct basis. His number is 808-555-2804. Let me know if you accept. Kono says he’s got a couple of new recruits, who could benefit from your course.”

Steve took up the receiver. “They actually want this old man, whose forty-year-old degree is in warfare engineering, do they?”

“There’s warfare, and then, there’s warfare, Steve.”

“And there’s retirement, and then, there’s retirement. I think I could enjoy that kind of retirement.”

“Then, I’ll see you soon?”

“Soon, Duke, and thank you.”