SHOCK TO THE SYSTEM
Los Angeles, California
Monday, September 20th, 2010
The day had been long. Inordinately long. A hostage situation went sideways, SWAT was called in and LAPD's finest had to do whatever was necessary to save the day.
And they did. Just like always.
Now, as the sun began to set over the Los Angeles skyline, SWAT Lieutenant Samantha Devereaux was happy to be on her way home where she planned on curling up with her beloved pit bull, Red, and indulging in her guilty pleasure – reality TV.
Sam eased her Kawasaki Ninja into the driveway. Waving across the street to Mrs. Miller, Sam removed her helmet, releasing her long, dark auburn ponytail. She grabbed her mail and made her way up the front walk to her porch, where a package from Aunt Mae was waiting. Sam smiled, wondering what Hawaiian goodies Mae had stuffed into the box this time.
Sam disengaged the security alarm as she was toppled sideways by her big baby, Red. "How's my big boy? Did you behave today, huh? Didn't eat any more of my shoes, did you?"
Dropping her backpack by the front door, Sam began stripping the day off her 5' 8" frame as she walked towards the kitchen to get Red his cookie. Jacket thrown haphazardly on the coat rack, boots kicked off one by one by the couch, gun and badge deposited on the kitchen island. As she reached up on top of the refrigerator to grab Red's cookie jar, the house phone rang.
Sam furrowed her brow. The only time the house phone rang was if her commander couldn't wake her up at 2am with a SWAT call out. Sam checked the caller ID and saw it was Mae.
"Hey, Mae! I literally just walked in the door with your package. I haven't even had time to pop open my knife to open it," Sam said jovially.
Silence.
"Mae? You there?" Butt dial, maybe, Sam thought.
Sobbing. Sam could hear her aunt sobbing on the other end of the line and her blood ran cold.
"Mae! What is it? Are you alright?"
"Oh, Sam. I can't…I don't know…I can't under…." Mae choked.
"Aunt Mae, are you okay? What's going on?" Sam prodded. "Talk to me."
"Sweetie, it's…. it's John," Mae blurted out. "Sweetie, he's, oh God, honey, he's gone. John's dead."
Sam's knees buckled and as if in slow motion, she hit the floor, hard. Time stopped. No. It couldn't be John. There had to be a mistake.
Struggling to find her voice, she asked, "How Mae? When?" She tried to will it to be a mistake but in her heart, she just…knew. Too many years in the field taught her better.
"I don't know the details, but from what the police officers who questioned me said, it sounds as though he may have surprised someone who broke into the house this afternoon. They asked if I had heard or seen anything out of the ordinary over the past few days. He was…he was shot." The last words came out in a whisper.
Sam fought to suppress the bile that rose in her throat when she heard the last word.
Shot.
John McGarrett was shot.
No. That wasn't possible. How in the hell did John McGarrett, a decorated Vietnam veteran and cop, wind up shot and killed in his own home in broad day light? This couldn't be real.
And just like that, Sam went on autopilot and her training kicked in. Not the SWAT training. Her other training. The training that told her that there was something far bigger going on than just a random break in. The training that had her already running strategy and scenarios for Mae's safety, intel to be gathered, calls to be made, favors to cash in.
"Mae? I need you to listen to me, okay?" Sam said, trying to keep the fear out of her voice.
"What? That I need to pack a bag and go stay with Jim & Paula? I know how your mind works, sweetie." Sam marveled at how in tune she and Mae remained, despite the miles between them. "I already worked out what you would be thinking. Sam, please, come home. Be careful, but come home." The pleading in her aunt's voice broke what was left of Sam's heart.
"Don't worry about me, Mae. I'll be fine, too. I'll send you my flight info as soon as I have it. And Mae?"
"Yes, sweetie?"
"I love you. You know that, right?" Sam asked.
"And I love you right back, my sweet girl," Mae responded.
Sam hung up the phone and placed it on the floor. Leaning against the refrigerator where she landed, dozens of thoughts and memories flooded Sam's brain as she tried to process the fact that John McGarrett, her beloved mentor and surrogate father, was dead.
Despite sensing his person needed him, Red walked up to Sam and started to whimper to go outside. She absently patted his head as she tried to work her way through what needed to be done. Compartmentalization. That was all Sam could focus on.
Shaking her head out of the fog, Sam got up, grabbed her gun and badge from the island and her phone and keys out of her backpack and hooked Red up to his leash. She set the alarm and locked the door behind her as she took Red out for a quick walk. As she did, she remained cognizant of her surroundings. She kept an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. For a day that seemed normal – as if a crazy day at LAPD SWAT was considered normal – Sam felt a shift of some sort. She felt like, all of a sudden, she was back to her hypervigilant days as a CIA operative, constantly looking over her shoulder, assessing any impending threat, looking for strange cars or people between her house and the park down the street where Red liked to people watch.
As they completed their walk and made their way back to the house, Sam checked her phone for the first time since leaving headquarters. There were several missed calls from Mae, two texts from Javi asking if she wanted company tonight, and one from Jazz, checking in before her date tonight. Jazz. That's the priority call. She typed out a quick response to Javi that she was tied up. She didn't feel like she owed him a full blown explanation. Wickes would fill the team in tomorrow anyways. She just couldn't deal with him tonight.
After locking up and resetting her alarm, Sam made a beeline for the back of the house. While her family room looked like any other family room, no one noticed that the room was shorter on the inside than it was on the outside. A sliding bookshelf blocked off a small, secure space where Sam kept what could only be described as a small arsenal of weaponry, as well as multiple cell phones, laptops, tablets and boxes of paperwork – her own personal case notes that she kept on every CIA op, mission and case she ever worked on. There was even a secure drawer full of passports, driver's licenses and social security cards for a set of aliases she had set up for herself over the years, should the need to disappear ever arise. She set herself up in her own personal SCIF – Secure Compartmented Information Facility. And once Sam was comfortable, she pulled up a secure link and set up a video conference with her darling Jazz.
Within seconds the beautiful Amazonian was on her screen.
"Hey girl!" Jazz's larger than life personality filled the screen. Barely paying attention to what was happening, Jazz started going on and on about her upcoming date for the evening. Regaling Sam with information on her latest Mr. Possible Right, it took her a full minute to come up for air and really looked at Sam for the first time. Jazz stopped dead in her tracks.
"Samantha?"
"Jasmine," Sam said quietly, once again fighting the urge to break down.
"Honey girl, what happened? What do you need?" Jazz asked.
"I'm sorry to put you in this position, given that I'm no longer with the Company, but you and Matty are the only two people I can trust with this." Sam said.
"Sam, you know I am here for you, no matter what. Just hit me with it."
Sam took a halting breath. "John McGarrett was murdered in his home today."
"Oh my God!" Jazz said quietly. She knew how much John McGarrett meant to her dear friend. The man had been a second father to her her entire life, especially after her parents died. Jazz had always thought John saved Sam after her world crashed down on her in Munich. This was going to tear Sam apart. "I will get you everything, you know I will." Jazz began furiously working her technical magic.
"I know. HPD would more than likely have had the scene. Mae called me. Jazz, you should have heard her." Sam rambled on for several minutes until…
"Fuck me sideways." Jazz mumbled.
"What?" Sam said cautiously as Jazz stared back at her through the screen. "Jazz, what?"
"According to a Naval intelligence report, John McGarrett was on the phone with his son when he was shot and killed." Jazz's eyes were watering as she was reading whatever file she had tapped into.
"You're telling me that Steve heard his father…?" The bile once again began to rise in Sam's throat. Oh God. Wait, if Steve and John were on the phone…Sam's mind was spinning. "Does that mean they know who shot and killed John?" Sam asked.
"Yes," Jazz said, pausing a moment too long, as she once again gazed at her friend through the screen. Sam prompted her.
"Jazz, who killed John?" Sam demanded.
Visibly choking on the words as a tear rolled down her cheek, Jazz said the one name Sam never expected to hear fall from her lips.
"Victor Hesse."