One week earlier
Friday, 31 May
Dawn, 05:25
It was a good day to be alive.
The sun was shining brightly on the coastal road, spilling golden light over the dark grey road and the bright green plants along the verge. The sky was a clear pale turquoise, with a hint of white clouds on the horizon. Picture perfect.
An artist's dream.
TC took it all in with a happy sigh, and a broad smile. Rick might tease him about art school, but he thought sometimes that it helped him to appreciate the beauty all around him.
He'd even managed to find beauty in the menacing mountain ranges of the Korengal. The patterns of the rocks, the colours, the interplay of shadow and light; it was beautiful in an austere and restrained way. Pity he couldn't say that about much else in the country.
The road was still deserted, and TC was glad he'd left Robin's Nest just after dawn. It would give him time to settle himself in for a day filled with tours and paperwork. He liked to be calm when he started any official paperwork, because almost every piece of required paperwork seemed to be designed to create a feeling of stupidity coupled with intense worry.
But at least he was no longer filled with worry about Rick and Magnum.
Rick's visit to Clyde two days earlier had been the turning point for all of them. As he had hoped it would be, when he'd suggested that Rick visit the shooting range.
The tension caused by Magnum getting shot protecting Zeus and Apollo had finally been exorcised, along with demons Rick had been hiding and fighting alone for years. Their little family was strong and happy.
Even Higgy was letting down her guard, and allowing herself to fit in, allowing herself to belong to a family that wanted her. That would never turn their backs on her as British Intelligence had done. Idiots, all of them.
And Magnum would be seeing Doc Carlson in a few days to get the all clear for his leg. Which would mean he could stop using the crutches and finally get back in the water. That was going to be a red-letter day for all of them.
Magnum wasn't a good patient at the best of times. Kept out of the water, he was even more obstinate and infinitely harder to wrangle. Although TC could see how much Magnum had tried to accept his limitations and all the medical restrictions with a good grace this time. Mostly. There had been a few occasions when TC would happily have dropped the other man out of his chopper over the Molokai Channel again.
TC leaned to the side and flipped the radio on, fiddling with the dial until he found a song he liked. His grandma had always said that the Lord liked a joyful noise. He didn't know about that, but he did know that he loved this song, and he was going to indulge his need to sing along. Hopefully, he would be joyful enough.
He turned the volume up, leaned back and cruised towards the Island Hoppers office. The strains of Ben E King's 'Stand by me' filled the van, and TC beamed broadly as he sang along.
It was a great day to be alive!
MPI-MPI-MPI
Half an hour later, TC made the final turn into the parking area at Island Hoppers. He eased the van into its usual parking spot, set the brake and turned off the engine. Took a moment in the silence to appreciate again just how lucky he was.
Alive. With good friends. Healthy, for the most part. Then he looked at the office building and his smile grew even wider.
He could see a light on in the office, meaning that Shammy had made it to the office before him again. That had been happening quite often since the shooting, as TC was still spending a lot of time at the estate.
But Shammy being at the office already also meant that there would be decent coffee ready when he walked in the door. If he had the money, he'd pay Shammy double just for making the coffee every morning. TC knew himself well enough to know that he loved good coffee, but he hated taking the time to make it. Shammy, on the other hand, was willing to put in the time required.
The back of his neck tingled suddenly.
He was being watched. Observed. Tracked.
TC felt the cold shudder run down his back, and flinched ever-so-slightly.
No. Today was a good day. He was not going to let paranoia get the best of him.
But he couldn't help himself. He checked out the parking area in front of him. No cars, no people loitering near the fence.
He checked the mirrors of the van, feeling like an idiot even as he did it. Nothing behind him. No cars moving in from his blind spots.
He stepped out of the van and turned to look at the road going past his office.
A single vehicle. Chevy Suburban. Black, tinted windows.
He took one step towards the road, wanting to get a better look. But the vehicle never even slowed, passing slowly and turning at the next corner, taking the road towards downtown Honolulu.
TC stared after it for a full minute, trying to pick apart the feelings running through him. Concern, sure. Worry, maybe. Fear. He hated to admit it, but under everything, there was just a nagging hint of fear.
He took a deep breath and let it out, counting to five on the inhale and the exhale. Did it again, then a third time. He was not going to do this today.
It was all Rick's fault. He'd made that comment about the CIA cars waiting at the airport when they'd returned from Myanmar. Just because a car was black and had tinted windows, did not mean that it was being driven by someone who meant him harm. No matter what his previous experiences might push him towards believing.
Since the Korengal, he'd worked hard on not letting the paranoia drive his actions. After their escape, it had taken weeks for him to accept that he wasn't being watched all the time. That no-one would hurt him, or his friends, if he disobeyed. If he went outside without permission. If he refused to eat what they put in front of him. If he raised his voice and argued with them. If he let his emotions get the better of him.
He'd learned to drop the blank expression he'd perfected in the camp. Much to the relief of his friends.
He'd had no other way to fight back, there in the camp, so he'd chosen not to let them see how much they hurt him. The lack of reaction had really irritated them, and deep inside, TC had enjoyed getting the better of them. Even if it had only been for fleeting moments.
The car still hadn't reappeared. Behind him, he could hear the office door open and the sound of Shammy's wheelchair rolling through the doorway. Stopping metres behind him. He could feel Shammy watching him. But the sensation was completely different. Not malevolent.
"TC, man." Shammy's voice carried to him. "You okay?"
TC gave himself a stern mental shake at his choice of word moments earlier. Malevolent. Really? He was just over-reacting. Understandable, after the last couple of months.
Nothing had changed since he'd left Robin's Nest this morning. Today was going to be a good day. A great day. And he would start it with a smile, and good coffee.
"Just fine, Shammy." TC turned around, and headed for the office.
MPI-MPI-MPIFriday, 31 May
19:45
By the time he'd landed after his final tour that afternoon, TC had forgotten about the black Suburban and the unpleasant sensations it had brought. Shammy had left much earlier, but a pile of notes lay waiting on his desk. And two new bookings for tours on Monday afternoon. New bookings were always a good thing.
TC sang quietly to himself as he finished the business of his day: updating his calendar of bookings, filing his paperwork, making a note to remind himself to check on the odd sound he'd heard when landing earlier.
The room was quiet and peaceful, well-lit and comfortable. TC glanced around the room and sighed. Maybe the life he'd built here, the family, the business, were never going to be world-famous. But they were solid, good. The foundations of a contented life. He glanced around the room one more time and smiled.
An hour later, he locked up the office and strolled across the lot to the Island Hoppers van. The night was cool, bright stars appearing in the clear sky. He could feel the fading warmth of the day and smell the ocean on the air.
He'd swing by the King Kamehameha Club and check in on Rick. Maybe have something to eat, sit a while and watch the goings-on in the Club. Rick always had an endless supply of stories to tell about strange things that happened at the Club, and TC liked to sit there and see some of the weird things in person. If only to reassure himself that not every story Rick told was an exaggeration. Some stories were completely true, if hard to believe.
He settled himself in the van, keyed the ignition, then hesitated. Had he left that notebook of contact numbers on the passenger seat this morning? Surely, he would have left it in the door pocket, as he usually did? He gave the rest of the van a searching glance. Nothing else seemed odd, or out of place. Shaking his head, he picked up the notebook and dropped it back into the door pocket.
"You're getting forgetful, TC." He murmured quietly, then chuckled. "As long as you don't do that in the air."
An hour later, he was laughing so hard that he was struggling to breathe. One of Rick's customers had insisted that his teacup poodle was a service dog, and that it had to sit on a cushion on the chair next to him at the bar. Now, he was so drunk he couldn't find the dog, which was still calmly sleeping on the cushion. He was wandering up and down the bar, calling for it in a high, sing-song voice that had TC barely hanging on to his composure.
Moments later, Rick had shepherded the guy out the door and into a cab, teacup poodle and cushion safely ensconced on the seat beside him, while the cab driver tried very hard not to laugh.
Life was certainly very good today.
MPI-MPI-MPI
Roger Hull wasn't a patient man.
Short, balding, slightly overweight, and totally nondescript in every way, he'd had a long and successful career doing undercover work in the Honolulu Police Department. He had the kind of face that people just didn't remember, coupled with a sharp mind and good instincts which had played in his favour.
Unfortunately, his lack of patience had tended to make him push suspects harder than was wise. Which was how he'd ended up unemployed, dismissed from the police force for repeatedly using excessive force to convince suspects to give him information.
He'd lost his pension, too. Which was how he'd ended up working security at The Waves, down near the beachfront in Honolulu. The upmarket building was home to any number of well-off businesses, enough of them with the sort of influence that allowed the building managers to run their own security force.
But now, he'd devised a plan to make up for the lack of a pension. All he needed was a helicopter, a pilot, a hacker and a safecracker. He'd known just who to call, and just how to get all the equipment he needed. A life in uniform offered a range of contacts, and even now, he still had enough friends on the force to offer criminals deals that would benefit them.
Even without the option of deals, he had enough evidence against each of his chosen three to ensure their extremely eager compliance.
And until last night, everything had been ticking along nicely.
Last night, Simon Tulliver had been arrested for assault. Given the amount of evidence, and the fact that his victim was still in the hospital, there was no chance that Simon was going to make bail.
Which left him short one pilot.
But he had a replacement in his sights. And this time, the man wasn't even a criminal. He was actually a veteran, instead. Totally above reproach. Unless you had access to police files, as he'd had until the department had fired him.
Theodore Calvin had been involved in a number of incidents over the last year, most of which had been handled by Detective Katsumoto. From those files, Roger had learned that Calvin was a great pilot, but could be prevailed on to bend the rules on occasion. Granted, he'd had believable explanations for everything he'd done, included stealing a police car, and there'd never been any charges filed. And every time Calvin had stretched the rules, his friends had been right there with him.
Calvin would be his replacement pilot. The best kind of replacement, too, as he wouldn't need to pay the man. With the right leverage in place, he'd bet Calvin would be more than willing to fly for him.
And when everything was over, well – lots of veterans found civilian life difficult to adapt to, and chose to give up the struggle.
He'd followed Calvin to his office this morning, and when Calvin had been out in the chopper, and the guy in the wheelchair had gone out behind the office building, he'd managed to get into Calvin's van. He'd dug through the things in the van and hit pay dirt. Calvin's notebook, with all his contacts listed. Interesting reading, especially the page headed 'Family' – a short list of pressure points in black ink: Thomas Magnum, Rick Wright, and Sebastian Nuzo, but the latter had a single line through it. No surprise, as he'd read that police report too. In blue ink, no doubt added later, Juliet Higgins. All with contact numbers and addresses.
Now, he paced the floor of the deserted warehouse on the land adjacent to Sand Island, waiting for Pravin Sandeep and Henri Fontaine to arrive. The hacker and safecracker were both clever men, and Roger fully expected them both to try to renegotiate the deal he'd made with them.
Pity they didn't realise that they weren't going to see next month, not after he was finished with them. And he would be carrying out a public service, too, by getting rid of two criminals who regularly preyed on people who were just trying to get by in the world.
Faint voices drew his attention and he stalked towards the open doorway.
"It's about time you two showed up."
"Chill." Henri's nasal whine immediately set his teeth on edge. The voice was the perfect match for the man's narrow, weasel-like face. An impression reinforced by the skinny, lanky body clothed in dark brown trousers and jacket. If he hadn't needed the man so badly, he'd have sent him on his way right now.
Pravin slid in behind Henri, staying in the shadows and making no sound, hiding his eyes behind a long fringe of straight, black hair. Young and well-built, dressed in jeans, t-shirt and sneakers, Pravin could have passed for a university student. On at least one occasion that Hull was aware of, the hacker had done precisely that.
"We don't have a lot of time left. And you two need to learn to be punctual." Roger snapped the words out, tone vicious.
"Sorry." Pravin spoke quietly. "What's the plan?"
"We have a problem. Simon was arrested last night." Roger laid out the facts. "I've got my eye on a replacement pilot. But we'll have to move the job to next week. Probably Wednesday night."
"Then why are we here now?" The nasal question shortened Roger's control of his temper.
"Because I have a replacement pilot in mind." Roger smiled slowly. "And because I need you two to do something for me. An errand, of sorts."
"We're not your messengers."
"No, Henri, you're not. But I am the one paying you both, so you'll do as I say."
He could see the mutinous look in the man's eyes, and knew then that Henri was the one he'd really need to keep an eye on.
He herded the two men to the far side of the warehouse, where four identical objects lay on a table. Pravin realised first what he was looking at, and Roger was gratified to see real fear in the man's eyes. Pravin might be young, but he was clearly well-informed about fields other than hacking.
"Are those bombs?" The question was faint.
"Yes." Roger picked up one device and showed it to the men. "I've made four of these. What you are going to do, is place them on four vehicles for me. On the chassis, under the driver's seat. And I want a video of each device being placed. Proof that the devices are securely placed, and that they are on the right vehicles."
"Why?" Pravin had gone pale. "I told you, I'm not in this to hurt anyone."
"I'm not planning to hurt anyone." Roger lied with a straight face. "I just need this in place as … insurance … shall we say."
"Insurance?"
"Yes, Pravin. Our new pilot may not want to help us."
"Then find someone else." Henri's nasal tone cut in again.
"No. He's the best option for what we need. The only problem is that guys like him don't break the law." Roger laughed then, a chilling sound. "But I think that this guy, with the right persuasion – this guy can be convinced to bend the rules."
Henri and Pravin exchanged glances, then looked back at him. Both more wary than when they'd first arrived. Good. Fear was a wonderful motivator.
"You have until Tuesday night to get this done. I need the videos by Wednesday morning at the latest."
"And if we can't?"
"Then, Pravin, you and Henri are going back to jail. I have evidence that can get you both a one-way ticket to Halawa." Roger stared them both down. "And that evidence will miraculously appear on a desk at the police department. So I suggest you do as I say."
Five minutes later, Pravin and Henri left the warehouse. They took with them a duffle bag carrying all four devices, and a detailed list of names, addresses and vehicles.
Roger watched them go, a cold smile on his face. Just one more week, and he'd have money enough to buy himself a wonderful retirement, in a country with no extradition treaty.
MPI-MPI-MPI
Wednesday, 5 June
Just after sunset, 19:35
TC flared the chopper with a bit more showboating than the manoeuvre required, but it always impressed the clients. Moments later, he settled the chopper gently onto the tarmac, and shut down the engine. While the blades whirled slowly overhead, lazily slowing to a halt, he hopped out and went around the front of the chopper to let his passengers out.
Sunset flights were always a great way to end a day, and this young couple were the perfect pair to take up on his last tour of the day. Recently engaged and busy planning an autumn wedding, Sam and Bonnie had loved every moment of the trip. Their happiness was infectious and TC found himself smiling broadly as he let them out.
They clung to each other as they walked to their car, and TC offered up a silent wish that they would have a long and happy life together.
Minutes later, silence settled over the lot. The light was fading quickly now, the temperature dropping at the same time. A sudden gust of wind pressed his Island Hoppers shirt tightly against his back.
TC swung himself back into the chopper to finish up his post-flight checklist, marking things off quickly and efficiently.
Shammy had left for the day when TC had taken Bonnie and Sam up for their tour, and the office was dark. The road was quiet, with no passing traffic or pedestrians.
The feeling of being watched struck again, as it had several times over the weekend and the last few days. Wishing he could ignore the sensation, TC looked around. At first glance, there was nothing to see. But a closer look at the road outside the far corner of the lot showed a darker shadow.
TC strained his eyes to tease definition out of the shadows. He thought it was a vehicle, possibly black. He wouldn't swear to it under oath, but every instinct he had was screaming that this was the same vehicle he'd seen last Friday morning. The one that he thought he'd seen a few times over the weekend, out near Robin's Nest. On Monday at the market. Yesterday when he was putting gas in the van.
He'd tried to get a good look at it every time, but it was never close enough. Or the angle was wrong. But this, now, the vehicle just parked in the road, was the final straw.
Maybe he should tell the guys that he felt like he was being watched, followed. They'd helped him through spells like this before. But things were going so well right now, that he didn't want to cause them any worry.
He was sure he was over-reacting, anyway. There was no reason for anyone to follow him. Honestly, if that were going to happen to anyone, it would be TM. He was the one who was always making enemies from the cases he took on.
But just in case he wasn't over-reacting, TC reached for his checklist again. Flipped the page over and wrote three words on the back of it. Along with as much of the registration number as he'd been able to see over the past few days. Then he laid the clipboard back on the seat, and eased himself out of the chopper.
Perhaps he should tell Rick and Magnum what he thought was going on. He would be upset if they didn't come to him for help with a problem, and he knew that they would feel the same way. He shook his head and smiled. He would talk to them tonight.
A faint sound echoed behind him, the scuff of a sneaker on the ground. Before he could turn, he felt the muzzle of a gun hard against his spine.
"Don't move."
TC froze, his hand still resting on the frame of the chopper.
"Step away from the helicopter. Backwards. More, more. Stop." The gun stayed in the small of his back as he moved, steps slow and cautious, until he was six feet away from the helicopter.
Now that he was surrounded by open space, the voice spoke again.
"You two. Secure his hands."
TC heard more footsteps and then his hands were pulled behind his back, his wrists secured with zip ties. He immediately tugged against them, only to feel the gun dig deeper into his back.
"You're going to help us tonight."
"I am?" TC's tone was pure disbelief.
"Yes. We need a charter flight. Below the radar, to the roof of a building in Honolulu, then back to our base."
"You have a strange way of asking."
"I'm not asking." The gun emphasised that point sharply and TC flinched at the sharp movement.
"We have a collection to make, and our previous pilot is indisposed at the moment." The voice was bland, as though discussing the weather.
"A collection? Sounds to me like your collection isn't authorised. Which would make it stealing." TC wasn't Thomas, but he was nobody's fool either. These guys were obviously criminals, and there was no way he'd be helping them.
"Semantics." The word was a verbal shrug.
"You're going to fly us there and back."
"I don't think so."
The gun shoved harder into TC's back.
"That's not going to change my mind. And even if it could, why would I help you? You're only going to kill me afterwards." TC tried not to let his anger colour his words.
"Help us, and you walk away. My word on it."
"I don't think your word's worth very much." TC let his disdain for the man carry into his tone this time.
"Pity you feel that way." The man shifted slightly, addressing one of the other men.
"Give me the tablet."
The gun eased away from TC's spine for a second before returning to its position. When the pressure resumed, the angle suggested that someone else was now holding the weapon.
Seconds passed, and then the man finally came to stand in front of TC. TC stared hard at the face in front of him, knowing as he did so, that he'd probably never get the chance to describe it. If he even could. The man was so ordinary that even his mother would have trouble spotting him in a crowd.
The man held up a tablet, tapping on the screen a few times before turning the device around for TC to see the screen.
"Please watch carefully."
The video played in silence for five minutes.
TC felt sick as the scenes played out. Panic filled him, and moments later he was tugging on the wrist restraints hard enough to tear the skin.
The satisfaction on the man's face, seeing his reaction, made him hold himself still again. He fell back on his experiences in the camp to keep his face expressionless. He forced his emotions behind a wall inside himself, sealing them away so that he could do what needed to be done right now.
But he could see the spark of unholy joy in the man's eyes, and knew that he'd got himself under control too late.
"So, we have an agreement then, Mr Calvin?" The man's voice turned smooth and cold. "You fly us where we need to go, and you get to walk away. You keep your mouth shut. And the devices in that video will never be activated."
TC didn't believe him, but saying so wasn't going to help. All he could do was go along with everything for now, and hope he got a chance to make a break for it later.
He had no choice.
He nodded, unable to trust his voice.
Then a black hood dropped over his head, cutting off his vision. Not that it mattered; he kept seeing those videos play out, over and over again.
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