A/N- I added an updated version of Chp. 3 to fix several errors. Sorry. That's what I get for posting in a rush on Christmas Eve. Hope everyone had a lovely holiday, whichever one you celebrate.
…
"Mahalo," Chin thanked the uncle and his nephew as he snapped a quick photo of their map. As the pair pulled out of the trail parking lot, Chin pulled out his phone and called Danny. "The dogs find anything yet?"
"We just got here and cleared about twenty tourists out the swimming hole. McGarrett's scent is all over the place, so they're trying to get the dogs to focus on the trail. But given how busy it's been…"
"It's a long shot," Chin agreed sympathetically. "If you've got an extra officer or two, I have a location you can check out. I thought it was odd that Kurtis Foster, if that's who this is, took Steve deeper into the forest reserve. You indicated he had plans for Steve, which means he must have a place to go to carry out those plans. Hiking out by another trail would be difficult due to the distance to all the other trailheads from your location."
"You think he has a hideout somewhere in the jungle?" Danny gestured to another officer with the nametag Palani and motioned for the man to follow him up the trail in the direction Steve had been taken. "Where?"
"I met a couple of World War Two buffs in the parking lot. They had a map that purported to show all of the publicly-accessible ruins on the island. There's apparently an old gun turret on top of the ridge before the trail descends to another parking lot in Wahiawa. It's two stories, just off the main trail, easily visible they said."
"But they didn't see him there?"
"They hadn't gone up yet. They were just preparing to hike there when HPD arrived and cordoned off the area."
"I'm headed up there now with Officer Palani. We'll check it out," Danny said. Leaving one of the HPD members in charge at the swimming hole, Danny and the officer left the visitors, HPD, and SAR dogs behind and hurried up the trail to the top of the ridge.
…
Steve brushed the broken bits of concrete off the ledge and hid a few of the larger pieces that he hoped to use as weapons under the mattress as he heard footsteps approaching. One particularly jagged piece he tucked into the pocket of his swim trunks as a just-in-case for later. When the door opened a few seconds later, he was seated cross-legged on the mattress, running the chain through his hands.
"Couldn't get out, huh?" The man shone his light directly in Steve's face and grinned as Steve squinted against the strong light. "Woulda figured a SEAL could do better than that. Guess they're not all they're cracked up to be." He tossed the small handcuff key to Steve. "Put that thing around your other foot now. And here's an extra pair for your hands."
"Come and make me," Steve growled. He was tired of the games and wanted answers.
"Son, I wasn't born yesterday." The man pulled a handgun from behind his jacket and pointed it in Steve's direction. "I'm going to tell you the truth- I don't plan on letting you leave here alive. But how you die is up to you: if you want the easy way out, you just keep sitting there, and I'll just start shooting limbs until there's nothing left to shoot."
Steve eyed the weapon and the man's steady grip. Was the man bluffing? Steve wasn't sure. He slowly took the keys from where they had landed on the floor, unlocked the cuff from the chain, and locked it around his other ankle as he had been instructed. Then he took the second pair and began to secure his wrists.
The man barked a short laugh. "Only easy day was yesterday, huh? Guess you think you're going to be rescued at some point? Hoping they'll show up before I'm finished with you?" Pulling a dark flask from one pocket, he took a long drink and chuckled humorlessly. "I've got news for you, son: they're not going to find you, not until your cold, dead body is covered in maggots. No one is coming for you, not until I've finished, and I won't be finished until you're begging me to pull this trigger."
Steve stared at him silently and finished with the cuffs. He passed the key back without a word.
"What, no comeback?" the man goaded. "No retort?" He pocketed the key and gestured to the doorway. "Get up and come here."
Pulling himself slowly into a standing position, Steve tried not to shiver as a cold draft from the hallway blew across his skin. "I can't walk this way," he protested.
"Scoot around on your bottom, then," the man said with a shrug. "I don't care- I've got all day."
Steve shuffled slowly toward the door. The cuffs allowed him to only move a few inches at a time, resulting in an awkward, twisting hobble across the floor. The man backed up as he advanced, careful to stay out of reach as he led him into the hallway and down a long corridor. They passed several more rooms and then the man stopped. "In here," he said, pointing to a door on the right.
Steve entered and saw a room similar to his own cell in size and shape but with more furnishings. A row of crates formed a crude table along one wall and various smaller boxes and instruments cluttered the surface, an eclectic assortment of items that the man had salvaged from the decrepit bunker. A lantern hanging on the wall donated its meager light to the small space but left the corners in musky darkness. It was the item on the other side of the room, however, that drew Steve's attention.
"You like it?" the man leered. "It was a surprise, finding a dental chair from the 1940's so well preserved in here. I could have sold it to a museum and made a nice chunk of change, but that was before my Colin died." His eyes hardened as he waved the gun toward the chair. "Sit down."
Steve recalled another chair in another room where another man had loomed over him with angry questions and pointless violence. That op, which was still classified, had ended years ago, but several scars from that mission remained. As he sat apprehensively on the padded seat, he noticed that the man had made a few adjustments to the chair. Metal handcuffs had been added to the footrests and leather cuffs to the armrests. He eyed the man standing in the doorway and mentally calculated the chances of survival if he charged the man now. The odds weren't good.
"Go on," the man prodded, nodding at the restraints. He passed the handcuff key in Steve's direction. "You know what to do."
Steve set his feet on the metal legs and slowly locked them in place. "Colin is your son?" he asked, stalling for time.
"My only son," the man said, stepping closer now that Steve was somewhat restrained. "But you already know that, Commander McGarrett. He told you everything about himself."
Steve racked his brains as he leaned back in the cold seat and slid his left arm inside the leather restraint. "How did he die?" he asked as he tightened the buckle over his wrist.
"ISIS," the man said shortly. "After everything that he wrote, I expected you to at least be at his funeral. I looked for you there- Martha and I both did- but I suppose you were too busy with your precious task force and saving the local natives from pickpockets or something." He nodded to Steve's right wrist which hung limply by his side. "Now that one."
"How?" Steve waved his left hand helplessly from its restraint and hoped to draw the man closer. "I can't tighten it like this." He had slipped the sharp rock out of his pocket and cupped it in his hand now as he waited. All he needed now was to close the distance between them.
But the man would have none of it. "I'm not a fool," he said shortly. "Quit screwing around and use your teeth."
Biting back a retort, Steve shoved his right hand through the loop and pulled on the leather strap with his teeth until it was snug around his wrist. Leaning all the way back in the reclining chair, he turned his head and watched the man approach. With one hand aiming the gun at Steve's midsection, the man quickly tested each restraint with the other hand until he was satisfied. Then he laid the gun aside on the crates and picked up a few of the instruments lying there.
"I've been waiting for this day for a long time," the man said as he considered each item carefully. "When we first got word that Colin had been captured, we hoped there would be a rescue. 'Leave no man behind', isn't that the saying?"
Steve watched as he set the pliers down and picked up something else that looked suspiciously like a drill.
"For a while, we received updates: he was being held in Gazna, then Erbil, then Mosul. We knew he was hurt, but he was alive and that gave us hope." The man set the drill aside and sighed heavily. "Do you know what 'hope' is, Commander? Hope is something that can't be seen, but something that you look forward to. We hoped for our boy to return home."
This time he selected a small hand saw and tested it on the rough wood of the shipping crate. A few specks of sawdust sputtered out and floated down to the floor.
"Even after the officer showed up on our doorstep, after we received word of his death and that his body had been recovered and was being shipped home- even then, we hoped. Maybe it was the wrong person. Maybe someone had made a mistake, someone had misidentified him. Maybe Colin was still alive."
This time, he selected a coil of wire and unwound it slowly in his hands.
"Our hopes were dashed when his body arrived. There was no denying it was our boy. We could no longer avoid the truth: that our son, our only child, was never coming home again. We would never hear him speak or laugh or cry. He would never again call or write us. That truth ruined Martha. She couldn't handle it and broke down. She wouldn't eat, wouldn't speak, wouldn't do anything for days. I eventually took her to a hospital. They made her talk to a shrink. She blamed me- me!- for his death."
Steve eyed the wire with trepidation as the man uncoiled it and wrapped it around both hands. The man walked behind the chair and out of Steve's line of sight. A moment later, the wire was slipped over his head and around his throat. Tightening the muscles in his neck, Steve arced his head back as he fought for air. The wire hurt as it pulled against the cartilage just under his skin. It was too thick to cut the skin, but Steve knew it was more than capable of crushing the bones and cartilage in his throat. Gasping, he tried not to panic as the air hissed in his mouth.
"Tell me, Commander," the man breathed in his ear, "are you afraid to die?"
The wire loosened, just a bit, and Steve sucked in a breath.
"It's not a rhetorical question," the man growled when Steve failed to answer promptly. "Are. You. Afraid. To. Die?"
"No," Steve rasped.
"Why not?" the man demanded, pulling on the wire again. "Do you think you're going to some afterlife? Some form of heaven where all the good cops and soldiers go for saving so many lives? What about the ones you didn't save? The ones you put in the ground yourself?"
Steve wheezed, unable to respond. Catherine believed in heaven and hell and a deity in a general sense, but Steve wavered between atheistic and agnostic. Growing up on the islands, he was familiar with the ancient Hawaiian beliefs which were now adopted by the surfing and outdoor community, and he was equally familiar with the Christian traditions favored by mainlanders and military families. As long as they left him to run his island in peace, Steve didn't care which one, if any, was correct.
His vision was beginning to grey around the edges when he felt the wire loosen.
"Don't have an answer, do you Commander?" the voice behind him taunted.
Steve lay on the chair, gasping for breath as the man tied the wire behind the headrest, securing his head and neck to the chair but leaving him room to breathe turn his head slightly. His eyes followed the man as he returned to the workbench and picked up a pair of pliers.
"So you aren't afraid of death, Mr. Navy SEAL Commander? Very brave, considering where you're going," the man commented, clicking the pliers together as he approached. "I would like to think that my son was not afraid, either, in the end. That would give me much peace of mind." Taking a spare crate from the corner, he dragged it across the floor and seated himself near Steve's right hand. "So, let me ask you a new question: Are you afraid of pain?"