Through the years, both Remembering Jack Lord and, especially, Memories of Hawaii Five-0 held writing challenges. In some, we wrote as a group with each member providing portions of the story. In others, we wrote out own stories. All reflected great imagination and writing ability. Here, I will post some of my favorites. Because the group projects run so long, I'll put each one on its own page. Here's one to get us started. It was an unofficial writing project that Steve's Girl and I took upon ourselves.
A Body Has Been Found
H50 1.0 FOREVER and Steve’s Girl
A body washed up on the shore of O`ahu, near the Barber's Point lighthouse. To the couple who discovered it, the body seemed to have been laying there only a short time. After all, its facial features were still quite distinguishable. So were the five stars – one large with four arcing around its right side – which adorned the seaman’s uniform.
“Red Chinese,” Steve McGarrett noted as he looked down at the body. “Who discovered him?”
“A couple attending a lu`au not far away. They decided to take a stroll on the beach,” replied HPD patrolman Chick Mitsui. “Upon making the discovery, they returned to the lu`au and asked the management to call us.”
“This took place within the past hour, then?” Steve asked.
“Within the past half-hour, Steve,” Mitsui clarified.
The chief and lead investigator of the State of Hawai`i’s elite police force bent over the body and looked through the pockets of its clothing. He found a few Chinese coins in one pocket and a note written in Chinese in another. His knowledge of Chinese wasn’t the best, but he was able to make out three words: Tell Wo Fat.
McGarrett slipped the articles in plastic bags, which he left with Officer Mitsui to go to the forensics examiner when he arrived. As he straightened, his assistant ran up to him.
“What do we have, Steve?”
Steve looked around at Dan Williams and, in terse tones and with his jaw firmly set, said, “Wo Fat is back.”
“Do you think he killed this Red Chinese seaman?” Williams asked.
“No way, Danno. He had him killed, perhaps, but I’m convinced he didn’t do it, himself. We’ll have to wait for Doc’s report to know the cause of death, but it can’t hurt to check with the harbormaster. We need a list of all ships that have arrived in or left Honolulu Harbor with Chinese crewmen during, let’s say, the past four days.”
“Regardless of where they came from or where they were going?” Dan asked.
“Regardless,” Steve affirmed.
“Since no Chinese ships are allowed here, we are looking for a needle in a haystack," Dan remarked.
“That’s right, but let’s start there," Steve suggested. “We can always expand our search, if need be.”
“On it, Steve.”
Fifteen minutes later, Doc Bergman arrived to examine the seaman’s body.
“Hello Doc,” Steve greeted him. Giving a grin, he reproached him softly, “You took your time in coming here.”
“It does take time to drive from Makapu`u Point down here," the medical examiner grumbled. “Why don’t you have the corpses delivered to me?”
Steve ignored the question and focused on the statement by asking, “Makapu`u Point? What were you doing there, hang gliding?”
“As if it’s any of your business, I was taking pictures.”
“You and the tourists, huh?” Steve goaded. He knew very well that Doc’s avocation was photography.
“That’s right, Steve, me and the tourists,” Doc replied in tones that said his patience with Steve McGarrett was wearing very thin. “I hate this running about. Why did Danny say you prefer my presence to that of my colleagues?”
“Because I do. You’re the best medical examiner this side of Brooklyn.”
Doc gave him a look of disbelief. Steve suppressed a smile as they walked through the sand and to the point where the body lay.
“Has anyone moved the body?” Doc wanted to know.
“Yes, Doctor,” replied an HPD patrolman. “We had to pull it out of the water so it wouldn’t be washed back out to sea.”
“Fair enough,” Bergman replied as he knelt beside the dead Chinese sailor.
He barely had finished taking the liver temperature when Steve began pressing for details.
“Okay, Doc. Anything you can tell me?”
“He hasn’t been in the water long: three hours…four, at most. Anything else will have to wait.”
“Alright, Doc, but...”
“Yeah I know,” Bergman snapped, cutting him off. “You want the report yesterday. I’ll do what I can.”
The medical examiner muttered under his breath, “The man’s from Brooklyn, of all places, but thinks we’ll believe he’s Hawaiian if he mutters a few well-placed words in the language.”
His remark was overheard by the Hawaiian patrolman, who chuckled under his breath.
The following morning, Steve and Dan met with Detectives Kono Kalakaua and Chin Ho Kelly. Steve briefed Kono and Chin on the few details that were known so far.
“Except that I have learned that only three Chinese seamen are working aboard ships that have been in or out of Honolulu Harbor in the past week,” Dan said. “The first two departed five days ago on the Star of the Orient. The third departed three days ago on the Star of the Pacific. None appears to have been in the area at the time of the seaman’s death.”
“Maybe we should look for Chinese ships,” Chin said.
Kono gave him a look of disdain. “They’re not allowed in here, bruddah. Too much high-security military stuff going on.”
“That’s correct,” Steve said. “That does not mean a Chinese ship couldn’t have been close to the islands, perhaps just in international waters. For that reason, I called the Navy to see what I could find out. The information was very interesting!”
Kono leaned forward in his seat. “Wo Fat was seen having dinner at his restaurant in Chinatown, boss?”
Steve chuckled. “We should have such an easy case, Kono. It seems that a Chinese trawler has been perched some 20 miles offshore for about a week. The Navy believes its crew have been coming ashore in a small submarine similar to the one Wo Fat used a few years ago when the Red Chinese tried to block our missile tracking system.”
“So, we’re looking for a red-and-yellow sub that looks like a duck, boss?” Kono asked.
“Let’s expand our search, shall we? Talk to fishermen and others, who spend time along the shorelines, to see whether they’ve seen a sub or a raft coming ashore or near the shore in recent days,” Steve suggested.
“The homeless live by the shore,” Chin said.
“Then, talk to them – to anyone who might have seen something. Get the HPD to help you. They have patrols in the outlying areas. Let’s focus on areas in and around Honolulu, especially around Barber’s Point.”
As Steve opened his mouth to say something else, the telephone buzzed. He answered it to hear Jenny’s voice.
“The governor needs to see you in his office as soon as you can get there, Steve.”
“Please tell him I’m on my way.” He hung up even as he reached for the jacket to his suit. “Let’s get moving, gentlemen.”
As his detectives scrambled to their cubicles, Steve darted through the office and down the palace steps.
Steve McGarrett crossed over to the State Capitol as he had done innumerable times. He had not told many people, but he enjoyed walking over to the state house.
Constructed between 1967 and 1969 under the auspices of Gov. John A. Burns, the contemporary structure opened on March 15, 1969. The new structure featured elements that were symbolic of the Hawaiian Islands. The columns surrounding it flared at the top and were textured to resemble the many palm trees that flourished in the islands. The roofline surrounding the open atrium flared to resemble the mouth of a volcano. Walls near stairwells on the atrium level sloped, reminiscent of Diamond Head crater. The atrium, itself, was open toward the sea (makai) to the south and the mountains (mauka) to the north, while a concrete moat around the structure represented the islands being completely surrounded by water. A blue-and-green glass mosaic by Tadashi Sato in the center of the atrium represented the land and the sea.
The opening of the state house had allowed governmental offices to move out of the historic `Iolani Palace, which had housed the offices of the Territory and State of Hawai`i since 1920. Through the years, it had suffered heavy wear and tear, as well as the ravages of time. Temporary additions had been added to the east and north sides to provide more office space; they had been wearing on the lanais to which they clung. As far as the people of Hawai`i were concerned, the government could not leave soon enough. As soon as the palace had been vacated, it had entered a ten-year restoration, which had returned it to the way it had appeared in the late-19th century, when King David Kalakaua had built and lived in it.
Now, as Steve stepped into the outer office of the governor’s suite in the new capitol building, he was greeted by name.
"Good morning, Mr. McGarrett.”
The voice belonged to Meg, the governor’s long-time secretary. Just as everyone who wanted get through to McGarrett had to deal with Jenny first, everyone who wanted to get through to Governor Jameson had to deal with Meg. It was made easier by the fact that she was a cheerful woman, who had a smile for everyone.
“The governor is waiting for you,” she added as she flashed a happy smile at him.
“Thank you, Meg,” Steve answered, returning her smile even as he entered the governor’s private office.
“Good morning, Steve,” Jameson greeted him. The state’s chief executive seemed serious this morning; his voice lacked its usual warmth.
“Good morning, sir.”
Even as Steve took a seat before the governor’s desk, Jameson began speaking. He came to the point without fanfare.
“About an hour ago, I received a call from the CIA, telling me that the Navy informed you about a Chinese trawler off our shores and that crewmembers from that trawler are thought to have come ashore in a small submarine.”
Steve sighed inwardly: The CIA, again. Aloud, he said, “That’s correct sir." He went on to tell the governor about the dead Chinese seaman, the message in his pocket that had read, “Tell Wo Fat,” and what Dan had learned at the harbormaster’s office.
“Is there anything else, so far?” Jameson asked.
“No sir, not yet, but it seems obvious that Wo Fat is back.”
Both men fell silent, thinking about the Chinese intelligence agent, who had been McGarrett’s nemesis for nearly fifteen years. The wily Asian always seemed able to get his head out of the noose. In earlier years, when he had worked for the Peking government, negotiations between Peking and Washington had set him free. Even since he had begun to work independently, Washington’s desire to avoid irritating Peking had seemed to give him a certain advantage in avoiding American imprisonment. It was no secret that, Washington’s wishes or not, Steve McGarrett wanted to see Wo Fat behind bars.
Jameson spoke. “I know, Steve, that your opinion concerning jurisdiction tends to differ from the CIA’s, but I expect you to maintain a professional attitude, should the CIA decide to participate in this case.”
Opinions tend to differ! What a euphemism! Steve remembered only too well that his first encounter with Wo Fat and a traitorous CIA agent easily could have cost him his life. Sometimes, he still had nightmares about the eight hours he had spent in a sensory deprivation chamber hidden within the bowels of the tanker SS Arcturus.
“You know my views on that, sir,” McGarrett replied. “If a crime is committed on Hawaiian soil, it is my responsibility to see that justice is done.” There was no mistaking the fact that his voice reflected his rising temper. His Irish blood gave him a very short fuse, especially in matters in which he felt strongly. He felt very strongly on the subject of Wo Fat.
“I know that, Steve, but Washington is really jumpy at the moment. It seems you have stepped on too many toes there," Jameson said soothingly.
Steve took a deep breath. After a long, thoughtful moment, he said, “If that will be all, sir, I’d like to get on with my work.”
“Yes, Steve. That is all.”
Steve arose and walked toward the door. Before he could open it, he heard Jameson’s voice behind him. He stopped and turned toward his superior.
“Steve, I know what Wo Fat’s return means to you. Be careful.” The governor’s voice was soft as he spoke, for he was well aware of the danger into which his trusted appointee was about to walk.
Steve offered a slight smile and said, “Thank you, sir. I will.”
Meanwhile, Chin was working with a photocopy of the message found in the dead seaman’s pocket. If he had hoped it would amount to only a translation from Chinese to English, he was mistaken. Rather, the message seemed to be written in code, as well as in Chinese. And, so, Chin had called Dan in to help him. It was a painstaking process, which required the men to work not only letter by letter, but also graphic image and meaning by graphic image and meaning.
In the forensics laboratory, Che Fong was studying the original message to see what secrets it might divulge. He had not expected to find more than a few fingerprints for which there would be no match in his database. To his surprise – and delight – he made two distinctive findings regarding the message. Instantly, he took up the telephone and dialed Steve.
“Steve, I have something for you on the message.”
“Good! Tell me what you found,” the chief investigator replied.
“First, I found two fingerprints. Both are in our database. Both belong to Chow Lee, Wo Fat’s aide and assassin.”
“Ah so!” Steve intoned in singsong tones.
“Not only that, Steve, but the ink in which the message was written is good old American ink, the kind that is used in millions of ballpoint pens.”
“Meaning Chow Lee – and, possibly, Wo Fat – are in the islands,” Steve mused.
“Or were very recently, Steve.”
“Good, Che. Were you able to identify fingerprints belonging to the dead seaman?”
“Not from our database, but I’ve sent them to Washington to see if they can provide a match.”
“Good, Che. Keep me posted.”
“One more thing, Steve,” Che went on.
“The Red Chinese shirt, which the seaman was wearing, is an official, military-issue shirt. The man was a member of the Red Chinese military.”
“The plot thickens, Che. Thank you.”
Even as Steve spoke, the door opened and Doc Bergman walked in.
“I have a cause of death on that seaman.”
“No. There are puncture marks behind each of his ears. He was run through with a long, thin blade no larger in diameter than a hat pin.”
“Interesting,” Steve mused. “As thin as a hat pin, yet clearly stronger.”
“Much stronger. It would have to have been,” Doc agreed.
“Now, why would one Red Chinese kill another Red Chinese?” Steve asked. He was thinking aloud. “Not that Wo Fat is officially Red Chinese, anymore.”
“Maybe the Red Chinese are after him, the same as we are, boss,” Kono suggested as he walked in and set a thick file on the corner of Steve’s desk.
“Whatcha got there, Kono?”
“I’ll talk to you later, Steve,” Doc said as he turned to leave.
“Wait, please, Dr. Bergman,” Kono said. “You’ll want to hear this.”
“Of course, Kono,” Doc replied with a smile.
Kono said, “I been on the computer, boss. I remembered another Red Chinese seaman, who showed up on our soil a few years ago. The computer found the case. This is it.”
“I don’t remember such a case, Kono.”
“You were lecturing at the Pacific Law Enforcement Institute at the time.”
“Oh, yes. I remember, now. You, Danno, and Chin brought in Major Bergstrom from Air Force intelligence to assist.”
“Right! Only this one didn’t show up on the beach. He showed up in a cane field near Wahiawa.”
“He was thrown out of an airplane, Steve,” Doc recalled. “There wasn’t much left of him after impact.”
“I remember that, now,” Steve said.
“There’s some good reading in that file, boss,” Kono said.
“I’m sure. Thanks, Kono. I’ll read this tonight.” He looked up at Doc. “I don’t suppose there was a long pin running through his skull.”
“Yes, Steve. There was,” Doc replied.
Steve looked in on Chin and Dan, who still were toiling over the Chinese message.
“Are you making any progress, gentlemen?”
“Some, Steve,” Chin said. “We’ve picked out four proper names. Hong Su, Tahiti, Liu Wan, and Wo Fat.”
“Well, we know Hong Su is General Hong Su, who once was Wo Fat’s commanding officer,” Steve said. “We know where Tahiti is. We know who Wo Fat is. Do we know who Liu Wan is?”
Chin and Dan both shook their heads.
“I know, Mr. McGarrett,” offered an HPD officer, who was in the office on other business. “I’m taking some classes at UH. His name came up in a discussion of Chinese history. He was a ruthless intelligence officer during the Korean War. Although he’s old, now, Peking still calls on him to help in difficult cases.”
“Such as the location and arrest of Wo Fat?” Dan asked.
“Don’t know. Could be,” the patrolman replied.
“It certainly could be, gentlemen!” Steve exclaimed as he snapped his fingers. “Okay. Let’s put it together. What do we have?”
Chin took up the message and, studying it, began to read, “’Hong Su ordered submarine…’ That’s the fish under the water picture, Danny.”
“I agree,” Dan replied. “Keep going.”
“’Hong Su ordered submarine to Tahiti. Will pick up Liu Wan. Tell Wo Fat.’”
Dan nodded. “I think that’s it, Steve. At least, it’s as close as we can get.”
“But why would such a message be in the dead seaman’s pocket?” Kono asked. “How could he have gotten it?”
“If he’s an intelligence officer, he might have found it and was taking it back to his company when he was killed,” Duke offered.
Steve nodded in agreement. “Good, gentlemen! So, Peking is getting closer, and Wo Fat knows it. Good! Now, we know what we’re dealing with.”
After everyone left at 8:30, Steve removed his coat and tie and sat down to read the thick file Kono had delivered several hours earlier. He did not have to read far before he realized that the murder described in the file and the recent murder of the body found at Barber’s Point had two details in common. First, both victims had been sailors in the Red Chinese navy. Second, the details surrounding the deaths were so similar that it seemed irrefutable that they were connected in some way.
Steve started to go back and study the notes he had taken while reading the file. Try as he might, he could make little sense of them. He had to admit that he was too tired to tie anything together. Glancing at the clock on his desk, he saw that it read 1:43. It was time he went home to get some sleep. Rising from his leather desk chair, he stretched his muscles and yawned.
The light of the desk lamp shone on the coffeepot. It was empty. So was a glass bowl. The sight of it reminded him that, a few hours earlier, it had contained a hearty helping of Jenny’s famous fruit salad. Steve had asked Jenny to prepare a pot of coffee before she went home. When she had brought the coffee, she had brought the bowl, as well. Steve had raised his eyebrows questioningly, but before he could say anything, Jenny had scolded him affectionately.
“When you asked me to make a whole pot of coffee, I knew you were going to burn the midnight oil but would not think to order something to eat. So...”
“Thanks, luv. I appreciate it,” Steve had interrupted her, taking the bowl.
“I’m going from here to meet some friends,” Jenny had continued to explain. “Everyone takes something to eat, and I decided to take a fruit salad. They will have to be content with less. I can’t risk my boss being found sick and weak with hunger by whomever comes in first tomorrow,” Jenny replied earnestly.
Steve looked at his secretary with raised eyebrows as he marveled at the way her mind worked. “What would I do without you, Jenny?” he exclaimed laughing. “Thank you, again. You have a nice evening.”
“Thank you, boss. Good night.”
Now, Steve smiled as he remembered the scene. Jenny had been in her top mother hen mood. She often fussed over him, concerned because, too often, he did not eat properly. Yet, for all her motherly traits, she was like Cerberus if anyone unknown to her wanted to get through to him, and she willingly worked late hours, if necessary.
After rinsing out the bowl and coffee pot, Steve turned off all lights, locked all the doors, and drove home.
When Steve returned to the office later that morning, he found Chin, Kono, and Dan discussing something loudly. All three seemed to be agitated.
“Do we have a problem, gentlemen?” Steve asked as he paused beside Chin’s cubicle, where the discussion was taking place.
“Nothing we can’t handle, Steve!” Danny exclaimed. Despite his self-confident tones, he sounded relieved to see McGarrett. “Doc called. He sounded strange, somehow, and asked that you come and see him on the double.”
“I’ll run down to the lab, now,” Steve replied.
“He’s not at the lab, Steve. He’s in the hospital.”
Steve stopped short. “In the hospital? A patient in the hospital?”
“What happened?” Steve wanted to know.
“He didn’t say. You know Doc. He just says what he called to say, then hangs up.”
Steve shook his head in disbelief and chuckled wryly. “Yeah.” Turning, he went out the door.
In keeping with the city’s request that people walk or take The Bus whenever possible, Steve walked to the Queen’s Hospital, where Doc had been admitted. After cutting through the atrium at the state house and crossing Beretania Street, he made his way across Punchbowl Street. He was surprised when he was met at the hospital entrance by Doc’s assistant in the medical examiner’s office.
“Good morning, Mr. McGarrett.”
“Hello, Dr. Parker. What has happened to Doc?”
“He was knocked out last night. It is only a mild concussion, but I ordered him to stay in bed, at least for today.”
“And he’s obeying you?” Steve asked in dubious tones.
Parker smiled knowingly and said, “Regulations require it. Each of us provides medical care for the other in such situations. He cannot return to work until I say he is fit for duty.”
As the doctor spoke, they walked through the hospital’s corridors. Presently, they approached a patient room on the fourth floor.
“Here we are, Mr. McGarrett,” Dr. Parker said. “David is very anxious to talk to you.”
Steve thanked the younger physician and entered the room to find Doc lying on his back, looking grim.
“Well, Doc,” Steve said mockingly. “Where’d you go last night? Some place where you weren’t welcome? A faith healer’s convention, perhaps?”
“Cut the nonsense, McGarrett,” Doc growled. “I was hit over the head by an intruder in my own home.”
“You what?” exclaimed Steve. “Maybe you’d better tell me exactly what happened.”
“I went home about 9:00, after completing some lab work. When I opened the door, I heard something behind me. Before I could turn around, someone hit me on the head.”
“Did you see anything, anyone?”
“Not clearly. The house was dark, but I was able to make out the figures of two men. They were large, much larger than I. I never would have stood a chance against them; so, I decided to play possum. As I lay there, I heard them open what must have been every closet and drawer in the house! After ten or fifteen minutes, they seemed to find what they were looking for, because they left quickly.”
“Were you able to find out whether anything is missing?”
“Yes. They took my camera.”
“Your camera,” Steve said, repeating the words that Doc had spoken. “Only your camera?”
“As far as I could tell. My collection of tiki artifacts was intact. My financial papers and coin collection were intact. Only my camera was missing.”
“Your camera,” Steve repeated yet again. “Okay. Then, tell me this: What have you photographed recently?”
“Nothing since the night before last, when I was at Makapu`u Point.”
“What did you photograph there?”
“Nothing to explain this! I’m telling you, Steve, I only took pictures of the sun setting over the mountains, of the lighthouse as seen from above, of the waves rolling onto the shoreline, and of two hang gliders. I’d barely begun when you called.”
“Think, Doc! Someone thinks you took a picture of him.”
“I have thought, Steve. I’ve done nothing but think,” Doc insisted. “I drove up to the point on the old military road. I checked my camera before I got out. I only had two shots left on the roll of film that was in the camera, so I changed the film before I got out of the car.”
“Did you shoot off the last two frames?”
“Well, sure! It made no sense to waste them.”
“What did you shoot?” Steve asked.
“Well, there were two men standing down at the lighthouse.”
“Okay. Now, we’re getting somewhere. Describe the men.”
“One was short and heavy set. The other was tall and thin, younger than the first man. Both were Oriental.”
“Wo Fat and Chow Lee!” Steve exclaimed as he leaped to his feet.
“What?” Doc asked.
“You took a picture of Wo Fat and Chow Lee.”
“That Red Chinese menace who nearly killed you… How many times?”
“He’s the one.”
Steve tactfully refrained from telling Doc to be glad he had gotten off with only a concussion. Darting across the room, he took up the receiver from the telephone and dialed for an outside line. Soon, he was speaking with Dan Williams.
“Danno? Steve. Put around-the-clock protection outside Doc’s room at the Queen’s Hospital. The best the HPD has to offer.”
He hung up and looked at Doc. “Don’t try to leave, Doc. Wo Fat is more dangerous than you can imagine.”
“Maybe you’d better order protection for Harriet, too. She wasn’t at home when the intruders came last night. The temple sisterhood was meeting to plan our Rosh Hashanah service. But she’s at home, alone, while I’m here.”
Steve took up the receiver again and added protection for Doc’s wife. As he hung up, he told Doc, “I’ll ride out to the house and make sure she’s alright.”
“Thank you, Steve. I appreciate it.”
“You just get some rest, Doc. That’s a pretty nasty goose egg you’ve got.”
“Yes, I will.”
“Did Harriet call an ambulance for you?”
“No. After the intruders left, I managed to get up. I called the police. They called for an ambulance after I nearly passed out.”
Steve nodded and patted his friend’s shoulder. “I’d better go out and check on Harriet.”
When Steve walked from the hospital, he found Danno parked and waving him forward. He approached the black sedan and stepped into it.
“Whaddaya got, Danno?” he asked.
"Che found two sets of prints at Doc’s house. Both are in our database. Both work for Wo Fat.”
“Yeah. I just questioned Doc, and it seems that, while he was photographing the Makapu`u Point lighthouse, he happened to catch pictures of men who fit the descriptions of Wo Fat and Chow Lee. I’m on my way out to Doc’s house to check on Harriet, make sure she’s alright.”
“Does she have family here that she can stay with until we get to the bottom of this?” Dan asked.
“No. Their family’s all back East. Perhaps, she could stay with a friend at temple. I’ll talk to her about that. Take me to pick up my car, Danno.”
“Will do. Duke’s gone out to the Makai Research Pier. We know Wo Fat has laid anchor there in the past.”
Steve shook his head. “A think tank is working on a government project there. The whole area has been fenced off and is tightly patrolled.”
“Knowing Duke, he’ll pick up at least one usable clue,” Dan offered in Duke’s defense.
Soon, Steve was on his way. He had turned onto Punchbowl Street and had driven no further than Vineyard when he realized he was being followed. He took up his radio.
“Central, this is McGarrett. I’m being tailed by two men in a recent-model, white, mid-sized sedan bearing Hawai`i plates 3C7827. Have cruisers intercept them just beyond mile marker 27, where the H-1 becomes Route 72 in Kahala.”
“Will do, Mr. McGarrett.”
And, so, Steve drove up the ramp to the eastbound lanes of the H-1 and made his way in the direction of Maunalua Bay, where Doc and Harriet lived. He would drive five miles before the limited access portion of the highway ended and another three miles on to the Bergman home. Traffic was moving, although not quickly. Although most traffic was inbound at that hour of the morning, traffic going to Waikiki and points East was not light. Steve was able to drive no more than 35 miles an hour. The white sedan remained close behind with only one car between him and it.
As Steve reached the Waialae Street exit in Kahala, he maintained his speed until he topped the overpass. Then, knowing there was a roadblock ready to be put into place as soon as he passed, he accelerated and zipped through the intersection at Ainakoa Avenue/Waikui Street. Instantly, four police cruisers blocked the outbound lanes, while two more surrounded the white sedan. Steve chuckled as he watched it in his rear-view mirror, then continued on his way to Portlock.
When he pulled into the Bergmans’ driveway a short time later, he found Harriet loading a suitcase into the trunk of her car.
“Don’t tell me: You’ve finally had your fill of Doc and all his eccentricities,” Steve teased her.
In reply, she stuck her tongue out at him. “No. I’m going to stay with Bea and Hal Weissman. It’s not safe for me to be out here, all alone.”
“Good girl,” Steve told her. “That was my purpose in coming out here, to make sure you were safe and to ask whether there is anyone with whom you can stay for a few days until we get to the bottom of this case.”
“Thank you, Steve. Bea and Hal have a wonderful guestroom, where David can recuperate when he’s released from the hospital. They have security gates, as well. I think we’ll be safe there.”
“Fine! I’ll follow you to make sure you aren’t intercepted along the way.”
“Then, you know who broke in last night?”
Steve nodded. He did not risk worrying her by giving the details. Instead, he said, “Don’t venture out alone until I let you know that arrests have been made.”
“No, I won’t,” Harriet agreed. “Well, let me make sure the house is locked up. Then, we’ll go.”
As they made their way toward the city on Route 72, Steve saw the patrolmen interrogating Wo Fat’s henchmen by the side of the road. They saw him, too, and recognized the car Harriet was driving ahead of him. Neither appeared happy.
“Their names are Chin Liu and Ming Wu,” Steve learned over the police radio. “How do you want to charge them?”
“Breaking and entering. Felony assault.”
“What’s the felony?”
“The theft of Doc’s camera. They don’t make cameras finer than what Doc buys. He’ll provide the specifics.”
“That works for me, sir. Consider them booked.”
“Thank you, Ben,” Steve told the patrolman. He saw Harriet safely to the Weissman home in Old Pali, then returned to his office.
The Five-0 team was meeting in Steve’s office that afternoon. Jenny had ordered sandwiches to be delivered. Kono had three piled on his plate and had just taken a gargantuan bite out of one. Steve used plastic cutlery to cut his sandwich into more manageable quarters.
“We’re not making much progress, Steve,” Chin said.
Steve replied, “Chin, as for knowledge of what Wo Fat is up to, I agree with you. As far as gathering intelligence about the seaman, who was killed; the presence of Wo Fat and Chow Lee on the island; and the arrest of Wo Fat’s henchmen, we have been anything but inactive.”
“I didn’t mean we haven’t been doing anything.”
“It just that we’ve been reactive, not proactive,” Dan spoke up.
“Does anyone have a better idea?” Steve asked.
“We could go after Wo Fat on some of his old charges. He never went to trial on them, so double-jeopardy does not apply,” Kono spoke up.
“Let’s get him for my uncle’s murder,” Chin snarled.
“I’m with you, there, Chin, except that Washington granted him immunity for that. I don’t understand their logic, but…”
“No one understands Washington’s logic, Steve,” a voice said as a new figure walked into the room. The figure was none other than Jonathan Kaye, chief of intelligence operations for the entire Asian and Pacific theater.
“Jonathan, good to see you,” Steve said. “Care for a sandwich?”
“No, thank you. I’m due to have lunch with the governor shortly. I just stopped by to share some information that might help you.”
“By all means!” Steve exclaimed.
“Wo Fat is being sought not only by you but also by Peking.”
“We suspected as much,” Kono said.
“Well, now, it’s official. He’s here for one reason, only, and that is to escape Peking, which hasn’t exactly been welcome in the islands in the past one hundred years.”
“Ah so!” Steve said. “And if we arrest him, how do we make it stick?”
“We don’t. We simply hold him until Peking can pick him up,” Kaye explained.
“That’s not good enough, Jonathan. The deeds that man has perpetrated on American soil… He ought to be in Leavenworth.”
“But he won’t be, Steve,” Kaye insisted. “Peking wants him. Peking gets him. That way, no diplomatic feathers are ruffled. I’m sorry, Steve, but that’s the way it has to be. Wo Fat is a very great source of embarrassment to Peking after he tried to poison the drinking water and kill Chinese leadership a few years ago.”
“And who solved that case?” Kono asked. As Kaye looked around at him, Kono gave him his signature big, toothy grin.
“Kono’s right, Jonathan. We did the work on that one,” Steve insisted.
“You did, Steve,” Dan amended. “You were put through the worst brainwashing any of us can imagine in the process.”
“Acknowledged and appreciated,” Kaye said. “Nevertheless, Peking is getting him back. They will deal with him.”
Without another word, the intelligence chief turned and walked from the room. Duke mumbled in barely audible tones.
“There are a few good names I could call that man.”
“In what language?” Chin asked.
“In any language,” Duke replied.
“We all could, Duke. Still, we have our orders. So, let’s get busy and find that traitor, so Peking can come and get him.”
“Hopefully, they’ll subject him to some of the same torture to which he has subjected others,” Duke said.
“You know they will,” Steve replied.
Dan added, “They took him from us when he drugged the scientists and attempted to steal our secrets a few years ago, since he was working for one of their scientific organizations, but he appears to have no such ties this time. This time, he should account for his misdeeds, and there are many.”
“Only if we catch him, gentlemen,” Steve said. “What did you find at the Makai Research Pier, Duke?”
“He attempted to lay anchor there, but the security guards told him that he could not.”
“But they did see him?”
“Oh, yes! He was not a happy man when they told him to leave,” Duke related.
“Was he in a boat?” Chin asked.
Duke nodded. “The security guard called it a trawler.”
“That sounds like what he used when he moored there when he was trying to recover the counterfeit plates about twelve years ago, Steve,” Kono said.
“Did Doc see what kind of car Wo Fat and Chow Lee were driving at Makapu`u Point?” Dan asked.
“There was one other car parked there,” Steve replied. “It was a white, mid-sized sedan. Chances are it was the same car that was confiscated when the henchmen were arrested this morning. For that reason, Che and his team are going over it with a fine-tooth comb. Hopefully, they will find something that will help us.”
“Then, we’re looking for the trawler?” Dan asked.
“The trawler. Take your own cars, gentlemen. Get HPD to help you. Divide the island into segments with each of you taking one. Search all around this island, the inlets and coves, as well as the marinas.”
“Let’s not forget to check the more obscure locations – Ka`ena Point, for example,” Duke said.
“Good, Duke. Okay, then, gentlemen. On your way,” Steve said. “Check in regularly. I have to stay in and finish this report for the governor.”
“Am I mistaken, or is he calling for more reports than usual, Steve?” Chin asked.
“Yeah. He loves reports,” Steve replied.
In the wee hours of the following morning, an HPD cruiser spotted Wo Fat, Chow Lee, and two other Chinese men as they boarded a trawler at Kewalo Basin. Remaining out of view, they radioed central dispatch, which called McGarrett.
“Keep an eye on them. If they try to leave, have the harbormaster stop them. He’ll think up a reason – low water or something. Let me know.”
“Will do, Mr. McGarrett.”
But Wo Fat did not try to leave. In fact, at 8:00, when Steve McGarrett pulled up beside the trawler and alit, he could see Wo Fat sipping from a cup as he sat on the main deck.
“Permission to come aboard,” he called.
The Oriental looked unhappy about the request but said, “Good morning, Mr. McGarrett. Please, come aboard.”
Steve nodded to Wo Fat and started across the gang plank. He was met at the entrance to the boat by two burly henchmen. “Mr. Wo is expecting me,” he said.
Reluctantly, one nodded, while the other issued a terse “Follow me.”
Steve fell in step behind him and made his way forward.
“Please, come and join me for tea,” Wo Fat said as he offered an affable greeting to the chief investigator.
“No, thank you. I’m afraid this is an official visit,” Steve replied.
“Official? But, how? I have done nothing.”
“No, but Peking wants you, and Washington wants to keep Peking happy.”
“And, so, you have come to take me in?” Wo Fat asked even as he laughed and pointed to his armed security team.
“That is the plan, yes,” Steve replied as he smiled and pointed to the two dozen Five-0 and HPD officers, who were gathering.
“And if I don’t come with you?” the Oriental asked.
“In that case, I can only advise you to weigh anchor and find friendlier shores to call home,” Steve advised him.
“You will allow me to leave?”
“Only because Washington wants to keep Peking happy.”
“And you? What are your feelings in this matter?”
“Oh, Wo. You know what my feelings are towards you. So, here are your choices: Either accept an escort to Hong Kong, where we will be met by Peking officials, or weigh anchor and set sail.”
Wo Fat leveled an angry gaze upon McGarrett. Rising, he gave a short signal to his henchmen. “Prepare to set sail, at once!”
Turning to McGarrett, he hissed menacingly; whereupon, Steve turned, strode down the side of the boat, and debarked. As his team remained on the shore and watched the trawler make its way from Kewalo Basin, Steve stepped into his car and sped away. Fifteen minutes later, he boarded a Coast Guard helicopter to track the progress of the trawler.
As soon as the boat cleared land, two Coast Guard cutters took up position on either side of it and, with the helicopter flying overhead, escorted it out to sea. Twelve miles from shore, the trawler reached international waters.
Only a few miles farther out to sea, a submarine surfaced. Its markings revealed that it belonged to Red China. Instantly, the trawler attempted to turn away. The Coast Guard cutters prevented it from doing so.
It was a sight Steve McGarrett never wanted to forget as sailors from the submarine boarded the trawler and took custody of Wo Fat, Chow Lee, and the henchmen. As soon as the criminals were aboard the submarine, a second team of Chinese sailors boarded the trawler and began piloting it out to sea. No doubt, they would sail it to China – and search it thoroughly for intelligence that might be secreted amongst its many nooks and crannies.
“Well, I can’t say I’m overjoyed with this outcome,” Steve remarked to the Coast Guardsmen, “but at least, we’re well rid of the old spy.”
“Yes, Mr. McGarrett. He’s well on his way back where he belongs,” the pilot replied.
~ Pau ~
Stay with me for what possibly is our best story, "The Case of the Rising Sun."