Chapter 11

I

The inside of a hospital is never an inviting place to be. It reminds a person that they are not immortal. The scent of disinfectant, the squeaky clean waxed floors, and the nurses walking around in starched white uniforms only served to emphasize the outwardly orderly world which covered up for the blood, guts, and goriness that went on in the operating rooms. Steve waited with Danno in the hallway outside the operating room, and the minutes seemed to last hours. The clock looked like it was stuck at the same time, though it had been three hours since they arrived and Maria went into surgery. Steve sank into a chair when his legs became too tired to hold him up, and Danno went to get them coffee. He handed Steve a large, white Styrofoam cup filled with creamy brown liquid.

"Cream and sugar – the way you like it," the second-in-command said. Steve took the cup thankfully and smiled at Danno.

"Thank you," he said. He raised the cup in a faint toast. "If this keeps up, we'll be sharing more cups of coffee in a hospital waiting room – maybe in a hospital room."

Danno would have told Steve not to be so morbid but in their line of work, such thinking wasn't a jinx, it was realistic speculation. If that sniper had better aim, Steve would have been in surgery as well, fighting for his life like Maria was fighting for hers.

"Steve," Danno began, "something doesn't make sense. A sniper is an expert marksman, and Brewer shot two potted plants, the windshield in your car and another, and the building as well as Maria. They found twenty-two bullets in all. Only two went into Maria. If she was the target, he should have aimed for her when she in his field of vision and fired. You two were in sight long enough for him to get a dead beat. He could have gotten you as well." Danno's voice was tinged with alarm at the thought of what would have happened if Brewer fired at Steve.

"Maybe he wasn't after me," Steve suggested. "This means Brewer knew something about Maria we didn't." He gulped down some more coffee.

"Then she was the spy?" Danno asked.

"We don't know. We won't unless she pulls through," Steve replied. He looked at the floor.

A doctor, clad in green scrubs, a white cap and white mouth cover approached. He took off the mouth cover and Steve and Danno could see a rugged face with slightly sagging jowls looking at them through glum dark brown eyes. Steve knew what he was going to say, but hoped he was wrong.

"Mr. McGarrett and Mr. Williams?" he asked.

The men nodded. "I'm Dr. Winthrop." He extended his hand to Steve, who shook it, and then to Danno, who did the same. "Maria is in critical condition. We're hooking her up to an ET tube for the time being. One of the bullets hit her lung, and the other cut through her abdominal cavity. There's a risk of infection which we have to monitor closely. She is not in any condition to talk. We won't be able to keep her on the ET tube for very long – just a few hours. She lost a lot of blood, but she had a common type, so we were able to give her a transfusion."

"Did she say anything before you put her under?" Steve asked.

"She kept muttering something in another language," Dr. Winthrop said. "One of the nurses said it sounded like Russian." He wrung his hands and raised the white cap back to reveal a mousy brown hairline. They were then joined by a nurse, clad in the traditional starched white dress and cap. She was in her forties or older, and had a head of curly golden hair that ended at her ears. She had an air of authority about her, standing firmly next to Dr. Winthrop with her hands wrapped around each other. She didn't wait for Dr. Winthrop to introduce her.

"She said 'Oni prishli,'" the nurse said, speaking with an air of authority. "That means 'They've come.' She kept saying some other things. Translated into English, they were 'They're after me,' 'They've killed me,' and she kept saying two names over and over …"

"What names?" Steve asked.

The nurse paused, recollecting her thoughts, then said, "ʽIzabella, Izabella' … and the other name she said was … Jane or … Jayna. She kept saying, 'Jayna, help me!'"

Steve and Danno looked at each other. Danno didn't say a word. The shock in his friend's face said it all.

II

The door to Lt. Callister's office flew open, coming to a rest by bouncing off the wall and creaking forwards a few feet. Callister looked up and stared at Steve perplexedly. He furrowed his brows and stared at the Five-O chief for a few seconds, registering what he saw. The blue of Steve's eyes resembled ice once more, his lips tightened, and his jaw stretched forward.

"Steve," Callister said, trying to mask his alarm. "What's going on?"

"You tell me," Steve said as he slowly trudged in, each step emanating with silent rage. He remained standing, hovering over Callister's desk with his hands firmly on the edge. "Maria was shot yesterday."

"I heard about it, and I'm as upset as you are," Callister assured him. "Are you all right?"

Steve knew he could not come out and make the accusation he wanted to make, so he slowly and calmly recounted the previous evening to Callister.

"When they took her into the operating room, she kept saying certain things in Russian, that someone was after her … that they killed her, and she said two names. Izabella … and Jayna." Steve looked to see if Callister's facial expression would give himself away. If there was no surprise or shock, that meant Callister knew more than he let on, that he knew what Maria's real identity and why she was shot. Callister's face wasn't any more alarmed than it had been when Steve entered so abruptly. He wasn't sure what to make of it.

"You know something, Doug." Steve leaned in and looked Callister in the eye. "You know something that you haven't told me. You hid something from me, something about this girl, something I needed to know when I started working with you! Now tell me what it is!" He was roaring now, and Callister wasn't going to unravel in fear of Steve's wrath. He kept his composure and looked Steve squarely in the eyes.

"If we let you in on everything at the beginning, we couldn't be sure you wouldn't leak the information," he said, bluntly.

Steve's anger grew. He stepped back and spread his arms out with his fingers pointing upwards. "Do I look like someone who goes around blabbing government secrets?" he asked, exasperatedly.

"No, but we couldn't take a chance with what he had." Callister was still being evasive.

"What did you have?" Steve asked, losing his patience.

"Maria was a member of the spy ring," Callister answered. "She defected and came to us to tell us everything she knew. That was why she was working as my secretary. When she was supposed to be taking dictation, she was giving it."

Steve was not stunned by this revelation, given the recent turn of events, but he was still confused. "Was she the mole?"

"No," Callister replied. "We still don't know who that is."

Steve's face loosened. He looked downwards, slightly nodding his head as though to accept Callister's words – but only because the conversation would go nowhere if he continued to show his anger.

"Okay," Steve said, softly, lowering his voice a considerable number of decibels. "What did Maria tell you?"

"She gave us the names of everyone in that spy ring – as well as addresses, meeting points, information on their operations. She was heavily involved in it and decided to break away when she realize the job was too permanent. She was a sleeper. They leave her alone for some years, then they come back and make her work for them again." Callister twirled his pencil around.

"How could they make her?" Steve asked.

"By blackmail," Callister said, contempt seeping into his voice. "Maria still had relatives in Russia. If she refused to cooperate, they'd be thrown into a gulag."

"Then why was she not afraid to come forward?" Steve asked.

"They still think … or they thought … that Maria was still working for them. She was supplying them with false information about our ships' placements and security systems," Callister replied. "Maria came forward last year, and we've been trying to keep the KGB from finding out she's actually defected."

"Who else knows this?" Steve asked.

"Douglas and Norwood, and no one else," Callister replied.

"Then your mole is closer to you than you think," Steve said.

III

Dmitri Liminov pulled out the cash tray and deposited the money his customer gave. He took out three one dollar bills, a quarter, two dimes, and three pennies and handed them to her. "Three dollars and forty-eight cents is your change, madam. Thank you and please come again."

The woman nodded her head and walked out with her shopping bag. Dmitri watched as she left, and as Maxim Vorontsov came in. He had a frazzled look on his face and it turned to consternation when he his eyes met with Limonov's.

"Let's go into the back," Limonov said. He told a clerk to take over behind the counter and he led Maxim into the stock room.

Maxim wasted no time, not waiting for Limonov to lock the door. "Zhurov was killed. Someone shot him as he tried to kill Maria and McGarrett."

"Is Maria dead?" Limonov asked.

"No, she was shot, but is still alive. She is in the hospital now." Maxim wiped his hand across his forehead. "McGarrett survived as well. He wasn't injured."

Limonov could not believe what he heard. There was no way their plan could fail. "Zhurov was one of our best snipers. He was trained by our army and carried out many assassinations. Only you and I knew he was here. Did you tell anyone else?"

Maxim shook his head. "No, of course not. You made all the arrangements with him. I never saw him."

"I told him what had to be done, and the rest was up to him," Limonov said. He went to a table where the morning newspaper lay. He hadn't looked at the paper in the morning. The headline read, "FIVE-O MAN INVOLVED IN SHOOTING AT APARMENT HOUSE." The subheading read, "One Dead, One Injured."

"McGarrett shot him?" Limonov asked.

"No," Maxim replied. "I don't know who did it. McGarrett could not have gotten him from that distance, with the sun going down. Someone broke into Brewer's apartment and shot him. They knew he was staying there, Dmitri, but we were so careful …"

Limonov went over his actions of the past week. "I hired Zhurov through Moscow. They sent him here, with high recommendations. He told me he controlled how he worked, and I left it at that. I had enough experience working with these snipers to know how to treat them. The only other ones who knew he was coming was headquarters in Moscow. Unless someone there is spying for the West …"

"It's a possibility," Maxim replied. "The Americans have spies everywhere like we do. They would not have known where Zhurov was staying though, but that building is a good vantage point. Anyone could discern that."

"We have to be careful from now on," Limonov said. "They'll have that girl under round-the-clock guard. She knows everything, Maxim. She knows about me and you, and Kovalykov, and everyone."

"We'll deal with her swiftly enough," Maxim said. "We need to make sure McGarrett doesn't find out anything. If he is as good as I have heard, he'll be hauling us both off to jail very soon."

"There is only one other way to get to him," Limonov said, "but we can't ask Moscow for help if there is a leak there."

"Send a message to Greg Akila at the Midnight Orchid," Maxim replied. "Send it through that camera girl who buys film from you – Ching-Lan. She'll give the note to Greg. Specify that you need someone to do a job for us. He'll know what you mean."

"Is it that important to get rid of McGarrett now?" Limonov asked. "He may not know anything, and if he is killed, the police will rip this island to shreds to find his killer."

"But they will not find us this time," Maxim assured him.

IV

Steve drove into the parking lot of his apartment building and parked by the concrete fence that overlooked Ala Wai Boulevard. He got out, locked the car door, and carried his briefcase in his left hand with the evening newspaper tucked under his right arm. He walked briskly into the parking lot under the building, towards the elevator. The parking garage was dimly lit but not pitch black. It was still necessary for someone to turn on their headlights in that area. It was a few seconds before Steve noticed the car coming towards him. Its headlights were not on. The engine roared and the tires screeched as they skidded along the corner. It wasn't someone speeding to get into a parking spot. They were coming after him, speeding towards him from behind. Steve's instincts kicked in and he ran as fast as he could, trying to get out of harm's way, but the roar of the engine got louder and louder, telling him they were getting close.

Steve turned and dove between two parked cars. The speeding car proceeded down the aisle. He got to his feet and ran to the aisle on the other side. The car swerved and came back around the corner. Steve could make out it was a blue Chevy, no more than five years old. He turned and ran back to the other side where he had been walking before. He darted to another cluster of parked cars, and tried to quickly make his next move. The blue Chevy was not giving up. Steve kept running. He ran out, towards the nearest exit. The Chevy was still hot on his trail. It was not slowing down. It came at a steady pace, but fast. Steve turned to catch a quick glance. There were two people inside, staring at him expressionlessly. They might be men – it was too dark to make out any features. The driver had on some kind of hat, big and floppy.

The underground parking lot was really not that big, but now it seemed like an endless maze. It was taking Steve forever to get out. He was puffing and panting, his heart pounding.He kept the exit door to the stairway in sight, but the Chevy was relentless. Steve turned around every few seconds, and it was still there.

A second car came out nowhere. Steve's heart almost stopped. Did his pursuer have an accomplice? Like the Chevy, its headlights were not on, but he could hear its engine just as clear. It came at angle perpendicular to the blue car, well after Steve had run past it. He hid between two parked cars again. The second car rammed into the blue Chevy, sending it spinning into a parked car. In the dim light, he could make out that the driver of the blue Chevy had on sunglasses, and a clear-skinned face. The lips were full – and bright pink. It was the only pop of color Steve could make out in the shadowy interior of the car. It wasn't a man – it was a woman.

The car that hit it sped away. Steve had to get somewhere safe. He got a good look at the Chevy's license plate – two of the numbers and a letter. He turned to run out. There was a pay phone near the exit door. He could call for help. He stepped out, still running, not taking a chance that all was clear. That was when a third car zoomed out from a parking space. Steve felt a ton of tin ram into him. He flew several yards to his left, landing on the gravel and rolling over onto his left side, screaming in agony. He screamed out in pain, shivering, clenching his teeth, his head spinning.

Steve gasped for air. He didn't know if he was going to live or die. Who are they? What do they want from me? Those thoughts whirled around in his mind as Steve heard footsteps approaching. His legs hurt, and he couldn't get up. Those footsteps could belong to his attackers, looking to finish what they started. Steve would not find out just then, because his consciousness could not hold out any longer. He closed his eyes as a black, fuzzy curtain of oblivion engulfed his senses.